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THE    FRIENDLY   CRAFT 


COPYRIGHT,  1908, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN   COMPANY. 

Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  November,  1908.      Reprinted 
July,  1909  ;   September,  1910. 


Nortoooli 

J.  8.  Gushing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


UO 
L.  D.  H. 

AND   THE   MEMORY   OF 

G.  A.  H. 

I   DEDICATE   THIS  BOOK 

ON    THE   GOLDEN   ANNIVERSARY 

OF   THEIR    MARRIAGE 


2fi2250 


PREFACE 

THIS  collection  represents  the  gleanings  of  several  years 
in  some  of  the  pleasant  by-paths  of  American  literature. 
Persona]  considerations  have  so  frequently  determined  the 
selection  that  no  defence  can  be  offered  against  criticism. 
The  reflection  of  a  bit  of  bygone  life,  an  odd  or  whimsical 
view  of  a  situation,  a  swift  and  unconscious  revelation  of 
character,  often  merely  the  happy  or  individual  turn  of  a 
phrase,  —  these  and  causes  as  slight  have  governed  choice  ; 
while  for  no  graver  reasons  other  far  weightier  and  perhaps 
worthier  material  has  been  rejected.  Yet  personal  choice 
alone  did  not  control ;  many  letters  that  I  wished  to 
include  are  not  here  because  of  the  impossibility  of  secur 
ing  the  copyright  privilege. 

To  many  librarians  in  many  places  I  am  grateful  for 
patient  and  cheerful  attention,  and  I  am  glad  of  this  oppor 
tunity  to  express  my  appreciation  of  services  without  which 
the  student's  task  would  indeed  be  overwhelming.  In 
particular,  I  would  record  the  indebtedness  of  many  years 
to  the  librarians  of  the  Smith  College  Library  and  of  the 
Forbes  Library  of  Northampton,  Mass. 

One  more  debt  —  and  that  the  largest  —  must  be  ac 
knowledged.  From  the  first  suggestion  of  this  collection 
until  the  reading  of  the  last  page  of  proof,  I  have  been 
aided  constantly  by  my  mother;  and  had  my  wish  pre 
vailed,  her  name  would  have  stood  on  the  title-page. 

To  the  editors  and  publishers  who  have  courteously 
granted  the  use  of  material  from  their  publications,  I  offer 
my  sincere  thanks.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  express  my  grati- 
vii 


Preface 

tude  to  Mr.  John  Bigelow  for  the  letters  of  Benjamin  and 
Deborah  Franklin;  to  Dr.  Charles  S.  Minot  for  the  letters 
of  Catharine  M.  Sedgwick ;  to  Mr.  W.  de  Loss  Love  for 
the  letters  of  David  Fowler  from  the  "  Life  of  Samson 
Occam";  to  Mr.  Frank  Sanborn  for  the  letter  of  Henry 
James,  Sr.,  from  "A.  Bronson  Alcott :  His  Life  and 
Philosophy  "  ;  and  to  the  Princeton  Historical  Association 
and  Princeton  University  Library  for  the  letters  of  Philip 
Fithian. 

The  letters  of  President  Lincoln  are  reprinted  by  per 
mission  from  the  "Complete  Works  of  Abraham  Lincoln," 
edited  by  John  G.  Nicolay  and  John  Hay,  published  by 
The  Century  Co.  of  New  York.  Messrs.  Dodd,  Mead 
&  Co.  of  New  York  have  allowed  the  use  of  letters  from 
"The  Life  of  Bret  Harte"  by  T.  Edgar  Pemberton.  To 
The  Funk  &  Wagnalls  Co.  of  New  York,  I  am  indebted 
for  the  letters  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Elaine  from  the  "  Biog 
raphy  of  James  G.  Elaine"  by  Gail  Hamilton. 

Permission  was  granted  by  the  publishers  to  use  letters 
of  General  Lee  from  "  Recollections  and  Letters  of  General 
Robert  E.  Lee,"  published  and  copyrighted  by  Messrs. 
Doubleday,  Page  &  Co.  of  New  York  in  1904;  and  by  the 
courtesy  of  the  same  firm  and  of  Miss  Keller,  the  letter 
of  Phillips  Brooks  is  reprinted  from  Helen  Keller's  "  The 
Story  of  my  Life,"  published  by  Messrs.  Doubleday,  Page 
&  Co.  and  copyrighted  by  Miss  Keller  in  1902. 

The  Lothrop,  Lee  and  Shepard  Co.  of  Boston  have 
kindly  accorded  the  use  of  letters  from  Abram  English 
Brown's  "John  Hancock,  His  Book"  and  from  Catherine  H. 
Birney's  "The  Grimke'  Sisters." 

The  letters  of  Sallie  Holley  are  reprinted,  by  permission 
of  the  editor  and  publishers,  from  "  A  Life  for  Liberty  " 
by  John  White  Chadwick,  published  by  Messrs.  G.  P. 
Putnam's  Sons  of  New  York  and  London ;  and  to  the 


Preface 

same  publishers  I  owe  the  letters  of  Mrs.  Gibbons  from 
the  "  Life  of  Abby  Hopper  Gibbons "  by  Sarah  Hopper 
Emerson,  and  those  of  William  Hamilton  Gibson  from 
John  Coleman  Andrews'  "William  Hamilton  Gibson." 

To  Mr.  Hamlin  Garland  and  The  McClure  Co.  of  New 
York,  I  am  indebted  for  a  letter  of  Ulysses  Grant  from 
"  The  Life  of  Ulysses  S.  Grant,"  copyright,  1898,  by  Hamlin 
Garland,  published  by  The  McClure  Co.  To  the  same 
publishers  and  to  the  editor  I  owe  the  letters  of  Daniel 
and  Edward  Webster  from  "  The  Letters  of  Daniel  Web 
ster,"  edited  by  C.  H.  van  Tyne,  copyright,  1902,  by 
McClure,  Phillips  &  Co.  Mrs.  Annie  Fields  kindly  joined 
with  The  McClure  Co.  in  allowing  me  to  take  some  of 
Mr.  Warner's  letters  from  her  volume  entitled  "Charles 
Dudley  Warner,"  copyright,  1904,  by  McClure,  Phillips 
&Co. 

Messrs.  Little,  Brown  &  Co.  of  Boston  have  granted  the 
use  of  material  from  "  Louisa  May  Alcott :  Her  Life,  Let 
ters,  and  Journals,"  edited  by  Ednah  D.  Cheney;  from 
the  "  Life  and  Letters  of  John  Winthrop  "  by  Robert  C. 
Winthrop ;  from  the  "Memoir  of  Charles  Sumner"  by 
Edward  L.  Peirce ;  also  the  letter  of  Dr.  Samuel  Gridley 
Howe  from  "Laura.  Bridgman"  by  Maud  Howe  and  Flor 
ence  Howe  Hall ;  and  the  letter  on  page  94  from  Charles 
Haight  Farnham's  "  A  Life  of  Francis  Parkman." 

The  letters  of  Edwin  Lawrence  Godkin  and  the  letters 
of  James  Russell  Lowell  on  pages  79,  127, 155  are  reprinted, 
by  permission  of  the  editor  and  publishers,  from  the  "  Life 
and  Letters  of  Edwin  Lawrence  Godkin,"  edited  by  Rollo 
Ogden  and  published  by  The  Macmillan  Co.  of  New  York. 
The  same  publishers  and  Mrs.  Pry  or  have  granted  the 
use  of  two  letters  signed  "Agnes"  from  Mrs.  Roger  A. 
Pryor's  "  Reminiscences  of  Peace  and  War."  The  letter 
of  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich  on  page  346  is  taken,  by  per- 
ix 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

I.     THE   RULES   OF  THE   CRAFT.         ...         I 
II.     A   MOOT   POINT   OF  CRAFTSMANSHIP  .  2 


III.     THE   NEWS   FROM    HOME 

JUDGE  SEWALL  SURVIVES  THE  EARTHQUAKE   .        .        .  2 

THE  BUSY  DAYS  OF  A  COLONIAL  GIRL     ....  3 
BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  FEELS  BETTER  AND  is  GLAD  TO  BE 

AT  HOME 6 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON  OFFERS  HIS  NEGRO  TOM  FOR  SALE  7 

JOHN  HANCOCK  CAN  LIVE  NO  LONGER  WITHOUT  DOLLY  8 
GEORGE  WASHINGTON  RECOUNTS  HIS  DIURNAL  PURSUITS 

TO  JAMES  MCHENRY 10 

JOHN  ADAMS  BIDS  HIS  WIFE  COME n 

PRESIDENT  ADAMS  INVOKES  A  BLESSING  ON  THE  WHITE 

HOUSE 12 

BUT  MRS.  ADAMS  FINDS  THE  HOUSE  INCONVENIENT       .  13 

SARAH  GRIMKE  DESCRIBES  A  QUAINT  WEDDING      .        .  14 

SHOWING  THAT  THE  COUPLE  LIVED  HAPPILY  EVER  AFTER  16 

THE  "DELECTABLE  WAY  OF  LIFE"  AT  BROOK  FARM      .  l8 

MR.  HAWTHORNE  GETS  BREAKFAST 19 

MRS.  HAWTHORNE  TELLS  HER  MOTHER  THAT  THE  BABY 
SLEEPS  AND  SMILES  .       .       .       .        .        .       .21 

IN  SPITE  OF  THE  HEAT,  GEORGE  WlLLIAM  CURTIS  SUC 
CEEDS  IN  WRITING  POETRY 21 

GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS  TURNS  FARMER  24 
xiii 


Contents 


PAGl. 


MR.  THOREAU  SENDS  CONCORD  NEWS  TO  MR.  EMERSON 

IN  ENGLAND .  .  26 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  CONSIDERS  CAMBRIDGE  DOINGS 

QUITE  AS  INTERESTING  AS  THOSE  OF  ITALY  .  .  30 
THREE  LETTERS  FROM  LOUISA  ALCOTT  ABOUT  THE  REAL 

LITTLE  WOMEN  .  . 32 

MRS.  STOWE  SUGGESTS  TOMBSTONES  FOR  TWO  .  .  40 
TWO  LETTERS  SHOWING  HOW  MRS.  STOWE  KEPT  HOUSE 

AND  WROTE  BOOKS  .  '  .  «  .'  .  .  .  4! 
PRAIRIE  LIFE  IN  THE  'FORTIES  ,  .  .  .51 

THE  HAPPY  HOME  OF  AN  OLD  BACHELOR  ...  54 
THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH  WRITES  FROM  A  "DIM  SPOT 

OF  EARTH  CALLED  BOSTON" 55 

THE   BEAUTY   THAT   EVER    IS    ON    LAND    AND    SEA         .  .         58 

IV.     LITFLE   MEN   AND    LITTLE   WOMEN 

THE   HEART   OF  A    BOY         .  .  .  ...  .  .62 

THOMAS  GOLD  APPLETON  is  "  PRETTY  WELL  WORN  OUT  " 

AT    SCHOOL  .  .        -  .  .  .  .  .  .         65 

BUT    RECOVERS    AFTER    HEARING    "  TWO    VERY    AFFECTING 

SERMONS " .  .  .  .  .  .  .  ...         66 

A  FIRESIDE  PICTURE        .       .        ....       .       .      67 

MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI  AND  HER  BABY  KEEP  CHRIST 
MAS  IN  FLORENCE 67 

THOMAS  JEFFERSON  COUNSELS  HIS   DAUGHTER   MARTHA 

(AGED  ELEVEN)         ,        .        ...        .        .        .69 

AARON  BURR  HAS  VIEWS  ON  WOMEN'S  EDUCATION  .  71 
AND  PUTS  THEM  INTO  PRACTICE  ON  TlIEODOSIA  .  .  73 
THE  PUZZLING  QUESTIONS  OF  CURRICULUM  IN  A  SELECT 

FEMALE  SEMINARY 75 

RUFUS  CHOATE  MISSES  HIS  BOY       .        .        .        .  76 

xiv 


Contents 

PAGE 

MRS.  GIBBONS  SENDS  LOVE,  ADVICE,  AND  MONEY  TO  HER 

SON 77 

THE  UNPREJUDICED  OPINIONS  OF  A  GRANDMOTHER          .  78 

THE  ADVANTAGES  OF  BEING  A  GRANDFATHER  ...  79 

DR.  CHANNING  HAS  DOUBTS  ABOUT  CHILD  STUDY  .        .  79 

SUCH  AS  SIT  IN  DARKNESS 80 

V.     STUDENTS'  TALES 

INCREASE  MATHER  CONSIDERS  HARVARD  COLLEGE  TOO 

SMALL  A  FIELD  FOR  LABOR 86 

THE  RULES  AND  ROUTINE  OF  NASSAU  HALL  ...       89 
PHILIP  FlTHIAN  DISCLOSES  THE  "  SHAMEFUL,  MEAN,  UN 
MANLY  CONDUCT  "  OF  SUNDRY  STUDENTS          .        .      92 
WILLIAM  H.  PRESCOTT  EATS  PEARS  AND    APPEARS   very 

WELL  WHILE  BEING  EXAMINED          ....       93 
THE    STRENUOUS   LIFE   OF   A    HARVARD    LAW    STUDENT 

EXTOLLED  BY  FRANCIS  PARKMAN      ....       94 
ULYSSES  GRANT  LIKES  WEST  POINT  IN  SPITE  OF  DRAW 
BACKS        96 

GOTTINGEN  AS  SEEN  BY  THE  FIRST  AMERICAN  STUDENTS      99 
How  THEODORE  PARKER  OBTAINED  HIS  EDUCATION      .     103 m 
THREE  LETTERS  ON  A  COMMON  SUBJECT  ....     104 
LYMAN  BEECHER    is  DISTURBED   ABOUT   HIS   SON    ED 
WARD'S   CONDITION 107 

VI.     LOVERS   AND   FRIENDS 

"THE  TENDER   GRACE    OF   A    DAY   THAT    IS    DEAD"     .  .       108 

A  PURITAN  POSEY     .        .        .        .  .     .        .        .        .no 

JUDGE  SEWALL  OFFERS  HIMSELF  TO  MADAM  GIBBS        .     112 

BUT  DOES  NOT  PROPOSE  TO  PAY  HER  DEBTS    .         .         .112 

THE  JUDGE  AND  MADAM  GIBBS  ARE  FINALLY  PUBLISHED     113 

xv 


Contents 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON  SALUTES  MARTHA  CUSTIS 

JOHN  HANCOCK  SENDS  A  LETTER  OF  REMONSTRANCE  AND 

A  BOX  OF  PRESENTS  TO  DOROTHY  QUINCY 
JOHN  ADAMS  GREETS  HIS  WIFE,  AND  DESIRES  HER  PRES 
ENCE   HERE  AND   HEREAFTER 

"THE  SHADOW  AND  THE  LIGHT" 

CHARLES  LORING  BRACE  THINKS  OF  HIS  WIFE 

As  DOES  ALSO  WILLIAM  H.  PRESCOTT    .... 

"  MUSIC    IS    LOVE   IN    SEARCH    OF  A   WORD  "... 

AN    ITINERANT   COURTSHIP    DECOROUSLY   PURSUED       . 

IN  SPITE  OF  IGNORANCE,   MR.   LONGFELLOW  ADMIRES    MR. 

SUMNER'S  SPEECH 

"NO  TIME  LIKE  THE  OLD  TIME" 

"NO  FRIENDS  LIKE  OUR  OLD  FRIENDS". 

WILLIAM   WETMORE   STORY   RECALLS  THE   DAYS   LANG 

SYNE 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  OBEYS  HIS  IMPULSE  AND  WRITES 

TO  MR.  GODKIN 

"A  BENEDICTION  ON  THE  BENEDICTINES" 

THE  UNFINISHED  SUM 

"FORGING  OVER  THE  REEF" 

DR.  HOLMES  FEELS  "YOUNG  AGAIN  AT  FOUR  SCORE"     . 

VII.     GENIAL   GOSSIP 

MRS.  PlNCKNEY  OF  SOUTH  CAROLINA  AND  THE  MOTHER 

OF  GEORGE  III  DISCUSS  DOMESTIC  AFFAIRS  .  .  131 
THE  STORM  DOES  NOT  KEEP  ELIZA  SOUTHGATE  FROM 

THE  ASSEMBLY 134 

WHILE  WAITING  FOR  BREAKFAST,  AARON  BURR  WRITES 

TO  HIS  DAUGHTER 138 

AND  IN  SPITE  OF  HER  DILATORINESS  CONTINUES  TO  WRITE  139 

WASHINGTON  IRVING  TRIES  TO  SAVE  THE  COUNTRY  .  140 


Contents 

PAGH 

ALTHOUGH  UNINVITED  AND   BADLY  SHAVEN,  WASHING 
TON  IRVING  ATTENDS  MRS.  MADISON'S  LEVEE          .     142 
MRS.  SAMUEL  HARRISON  SMITH  GIVES  "A  SMALL,  GEN 
TEEL   DINNER  "    FOR   MlSS   MARTINEAU        .  .  .      145 

WASHINGTON  IRVING  DENIES  BOTH 148 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  PREPARES  TO  BUY  A  DOLL  .  149 

"THE  BROKEN  CIRCLE" 150 

HENRY  D.  THOREAU  ON  "THAT  GLORIOUS  SOCIETY 

CALLED  SOLITUDE" 150 

HENRY  JAMES,  SR.,  REGARDS  THE  SATURDAY  CLUB  WITH 

IMPERFECT  SERIOUSNESS 152 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  SPEAKS  FRENCH  TOO  POLITELY  155 

"THE  CHANGED  PERSPECTIVE" 156 

MRS.  BRIGGS  LISTENS  TO  PHILLIPS  BROOKS  .  .  .156 
MRS.  LONGFELLOW  PREFERS  HENRY'S  FRIENDS  TO  TITLED 

FOLK  .  .  158 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  COMMENDS  MARGARET  FULLER 

TO  THOMAS  AND  JANE  CARLYLE  .  .  .  .158 
Miss  FULLER  GOES  ACCORDINGLY  AND  COMMUNICATES 

THE   RESULT l6o 

AFTER  FOURTEEN  YEARS  EMERSON  AND  CARLYLE  ARE 

"SHOVELLED  TOGETHER  AGAIN"  ....  l62 

CHARLES  SUMNER  SEES  THE  QUEEN  OPEN  PARLIAMENT, 

AND  FINDS  MACAULAY  OPPRESSIVE  .  .  .  .164 

WASHINGTON  IRVING  VISITS  MR.  SCOTT  AT  ABBOTS- 
FORD  .  .  .  ^ 166 

LATER  HE  MEETS  SIR  WALTER  IN  LONDON    .        .        .     168 

THE  STORYS  CARE  FOR  NO  SOCIETY  BUT  THAT  OF  THE 

BROWNINGS 169 

PICTURES,  THE  BROWNINGS,  AND  SUPPER  AT  EVANS'S     .     170 

JOHN  LOTHROP  MOTLEY  FEELS  "LIKE  A  DONKEY"  WHEN 

COMPLIMENTED    BY  A    GREAT   LADY      .  .  .  .172 

xvii 


Contents 

PAGE 

BAYARD  TAYLOR  HEARS  TENNYSON  READ  "THE  IDYLLS 
OF  THE  KING,"  AND  LIKES  MATTHEW  ARNOLD  AT 

FIRST   SIGHT 173 

MARGARET  FULLER  SUFFERS  maitraise  honte  BEFORE 

VISITING  GEORGE  SAND 177 

GEORGE  BANCROFT  HOLDS  FAMILIAR  INTERCOURSE  WITH 

GENERAL  MOLTKE 179 

JOHN  LOTHROP  MOTLEY  VISITS  PRINCE  BISMARCK         .     182 

VIII.     THE  JUDGMENT  OF   PEERS 

HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW,  WITH  THE  ENTHUSIASM  OF 
SEVENTEEN,  DISCLOSES  HIS  LITERARY  AMBITION  TO 
HIS  FATHER 184 

MR.  LONGFELLOW,  SR.,  REPLIES  CAUTIOUSLY,  INCIDEN 
TALLY  POINTING  OUT  A  FALSE  RHYTHM  .  .  1 86 

WASHINGTON  IRVING  ALSO  DISCOURAGES  LITERARY  AM 
BITION  187 

MR.  LOWELL  ADVISES  MR.  HOWELLS      .        .        .        .188 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  EXPRESSES  TO  THOMAS  CARLYLE 

HIS  APPROBATION  OF  "SARTOR  RESARTUS "  .  .  189 

MR.  WILLIS  INSISTS  ON  REMAINING  OUT  OF  BOSTON, 
BUT  WILL  DO  ALL  THAT  HE  CAN  FOR  HIS 

FRIENDS 192 

MARGARET  FULLER  URGES  HENRY  THOREAU  TO  RENEWED 

EFFORT 194 

ONCE  MORE  Miss  FULLER  REJECTS  MR.  THOREAU'S 
MANUSCRIFF 

WILLIAM  WETMORE  STORY  PRAISES  THE  "FABLE  FOR 
CRITICS,"  BUT  DEFENDS  MARGARET  FULLER  . 

MR.  AND  MRS.  LONGFELLOW  READ   DR.  HOLMES'S  NEW 

VOLUME        .  

xviii 


Contents 

PAGB 

CATHARINE  SEDGWICK  HAS  GRAVE  DOUBTS  ABOUT  "THE 

HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES"  .  .  .  .199 
RUFUS  CHOATE  RISES  FROM  BED  TO  EXTOL  BURKE  .  200 
JOHN  G.  WHITTIER  FEELS  UNCOMFORTABLE  WHILE 

READING  BROWNING 201 

WILLIAM  WETMORE  STORY  WRITES  TO  CHARLES  ELIOT 

NORTON  AFTER  MRS.  BROWNING'S  DEATH  .  .  201 
THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH  CONDEMNS  THE  PUBLICATION 

OF  THE  BROWNING  LETTERS  .  .  .  .  .  202 
JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL  is  NOT  SQUEAMISH,  BUT —  .  204 
CHARLES  DUDLEY  WARNER  ON  LITERATURE  AND  LIFE  .  204 
THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH  CONSIDERS  WHITMAN'S  VERSE 

CURIOUS  BUT  INEFFECTIVE  .....  2Oy 
THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH  DISCUSSES  HIS  OWN  AND 

OTHERS'  POEMS 209 

OF  THE  CURATIVE  PROPERTIES  OF  POETRY,  AND  OF  THE 

KIND  THAT  SHOULD  BE  TAKEN  HOMEOPATHICALLY  .  2IO 
CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND  DEPLORES  THE  CHANGE  IN 

AMERICAN  HUMOR 211 

THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH  ON  LETTER  WRITERS  .  .212 
De  gustibus  non  disputandum  .  .  .  .  .  .213 


IX.     THE   WIDE,   WIDE   WORLD 
GOVERNOR  WINTHROP  BIDS   HIS  WIFE  PREPARE  FOR  AN 

OCEAN   VOYAGE 2l6 

ABIGAIL  ADAMS  SUFFERS  THE  INDELICACY  OF  SEA-SICK 
NESS 219 

GOUVERNEUR  MORRIS  JOURNEYS  TO  THE  "  FAR  WEST," 
SEES  NIAGARA,  AND  PROPHESIES  THE  FUTURE  OF  THE 

COUNTRY 221 

DR.  HOLMES  RAILS  AGAINST  TAVERNS     ....     222 
xix 


Contents 

PAGE 

HENRY  D.  THOREAU  CARRIES  CONCORD   GROUND  AND 

THOUGHTS  TO  STATEN  ISLAND 224 

FRANCIS  PARKMAN  OBJECTS  TO  WESTERN  MANNERS       .  226 
THE  VARIED  EXPERIENCES  OF  AN  ABOLITIONIST  LECTURER  227 
HENRY  D.  THOREAU  GLORIES  IN  THE  STORMY  HOSPITAL 
ITY  OF   MONADNOCK 229 

THEODORE  PARKER,  FRESH  FROM  BOSTON,  FINDS  SANTA 

CRUZ  SLOW 233 

CHARLES  SUMNER  RIDES  WITH  THE  FOX-HUNTING  GENTRY 
AND  CLERGY  OF  MERRIE  ENGLAND  ....  236 

WILLIAM  H.  PRESCOTT  TELLS  HIS  WIFE  ALL  ABOUT 

THE  QUEEN 241 

WILLIAM  H.  PRESCOTT  WEARS  RED  ROBES  AT  OXFORD  .    245 

BRET  HARTE  FEELS  LIKE  A  DEFUNCT  ENGLISH  LORD    .    247 

"HE  KILLED  THE  HARE" 249 

FOR  CERTAIN  PURPOSES  EDWIN  LAWRENCE  GODKIN  PRE 
FERS  ENGLAND  TO  AMERICA 250 

ABIGAIL  ADAMS  DISAPPROVES  OF  PARIS  AND  PARISIENNES, 

IN  SHORT,  PREFERS  BOSTON 250 

CELIA  THAXTER  LOSES  HER  HEART  AND  EXHAUSTS  HER 

ADJECTIVES  IN  MILAN 252 

WASHINGTON  IRVING  VISITS  A  GERMAN  "BRACE- 
BRIDGE  HALL" 254 

BEING  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  WAY  IN  WHICH  CHARLES 

GODFREY  LELAND  "TOOK  EUROPE  LIKE  A  PIE"  .  255 

WHY  TRAVEL  ? 256 

X.     MAKERS  OF   HISTORY 

JOHN  WINTHROP  is  ELECTED  GOVERNOR  OF  THE  MASSA 
CHUSETTS  COMPANY 257 

GOVERNOR  BRADFORD  EXPLAINS  TO  MR.  WESTON  THE 

DELAY  IN  SENDING  BACK  THE  "  MAYFLOWER  "  .  258 

XX 


Contents 

PAGE 

SAMUEL    SEWALL    PROTESTS    AGAINST    THE    ACTING   OF 

PLAYS 260 

JAMES  WARREN  RELIES  ON  PKOVIDENCE  AND  THE  PEO 
PLE  261 

THE  NEWS  FROM  BUNKER  HILL 263 

MRS.  WASHINGTON  AND  MRS.  WARREN  TAKE  A  MORN 
ING  DRIVE 266 

ABIGAIL  ADAMS  COUNSELS  SEPARATION  ....  268 
EIGHT  MONTHS  LATER  THE  COLONIES  TAKE  ACTION  .  268 
IN  THE  DARK  DAYS  OF  '77  JOHN  ADAMS  LOSES  HIS 

TEMPER 269 

AND   THE    TORIES    ARE    ASSURED    THAT    THE   END    is 

NEAR 270 

THE  FIRST    PRESIDENT    MOVES    RELUCTANTLY  TO    THE 

CHAIR  OF  GOVERNMENT 272 

AT  THE  CLOSE  OF  THE  REVOLUTION  BENJAMIN  FRANK 
LIN  ADVOCATES  ARBITRATION  .....    273 

BENJAMIN    FRANKLIN    PREFERS    THE   TURKEY  TO    THE 

EAGLE  AS  THE  EMBLEM  OF  THE  COUNTRY        .       .    273 

THREE  LETTERS  TO  HIS  DAUGHTER  FROM  AARON  BURR 

IN  PRISON 274 

MRS.  MADISON  SAVES  THE  PORTRAIT  OF  WASHINGTON  .     275 

MRS.  JACKSON  WITNESSES  THE  OCCUPATION  OF  PENSA- 
COLA,  AND  LAMENTS  THE  GODLESSNESS  OF  THE 
SPANISH 277 

SHE  FINDS  WASHINGTON  NOT  MUCH  MORE  PIOUS   .        .     281 

MRS.  SAMUEL  HARRISON  SMITH  DESCRIBES  ANDREW 
JACKSON'S  INAUGURATION,  WITH  VARYING  OPINIONS 
AS  TO  THE  MAJESTY  OF  THE  PEOPLE  .  .  .  283 

THUMB  NAIL  SKETCHES  OF  THE  ABOLITIONISTS       .        .    287 

COLONEL    LEE    RESIGNS    FROM    THE    UNITED    STATES 

ARMY 288 

xxi 


Contents 

PAGE 

HORACE  GREELEY  LOSES  HIS  NERVE  AND  WRITES  TO  THE 

PRESIDENT 290 

THE  PARAMOUNT  OBJECT  —  TO  SAVE  THE  UNION     .        .    292 
A  BREAD  RIOT  IN  THE  CAPITAL  OF  THE  CONFEDERACY  .    293 
PRESIDENT    LINCOLN    ACKNOWLEDGES    HIS    ERROR    TO 

GENERAL  GRANT       .        ...        .        .        .    296 

THE    EVACUATION    OF    RICHMOND    AS    A    WOMAN    SAW 

.IT 296 

"MY  CAPTAIN  LIES,  FALLEN  COLD  AND  DEAD"      .        .     300 
IN   PEACE    GENERAL   LEE  LOSES  THE  BURDEN    OF  OLD 

SORROWS    .        .        ...        .        .        .        .        .    301 

"  HOW  SWIFT  THE  SUDDEN  FLASH  OF  WOE "  .         .         .     302 
CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND  ON  THE  JOLLY  DAYS  OF  THE 

REVOLUTION  OF  '48  .        .        .        .        .        „        .     303 

WASHINGTON    IRVING    RECALLS    Louis   NAPOLEON  AND 

EUGENIE  MONTIJO     .        .    • 305 

SEVENTEEN  YEARS  LATER  HIS  FEARS  ARE  REALIZED   .    .     306 
GEORGE  BANCROFT  ON  THE   RECONSTRUCTION   OF  GER 
MANY 309 

EDWIN  LAWRENCE  GODKIN  ON  IMPERIALISM  AND  KIP 
LING 310 


XI.     "I   WILL  NAME   YOU   THE   DEGREES" 

"TiiE  RETORT  COURTEOUS" 311 

"THE  QUIP  MODEST" 311 

"THE  REPLY  CHURLISH" 312 

"THE  REPROOF  VALIANT" 313 

"THE  COUNTERCHECK  QUARRELSOME"    .        .        .        .313 

"THE  LIE  CIRCUMSTANTIAL" 314 

"THE  LIE  DIRECT" 314 

xx  ii 


Contents 

XII.     "QUIPS   AND    CRANKS" 

PAGE 

THREE  WHIMSICAL  VIEWS  OF  THE  FUTURE  ESTATE          .  316 
DAVID   FOWLER,   AN    INDIAN    CONVERT,   RECOUNTS    HIS 

NEED  OF  A  RIB 317 

RUFUS  CHOATE  is  GUILTY  OF  CONTEMFF  OF  COURT         .  320 

LYMAN  BEECHER  SENDS  A  TELEGRAM      ....  320 

A   MODEST    REQUEST 321 

XIII.     COURTESIES   OF  THE   CRAFT 

GENERAL  WASHINGTON  WAXES  FACETIOUS  OVER  A  DINNER 

INVITATION .  322 

AARON  BURR  REGRETS 323 

DR.  HOLMES  ACCEPTS 323 

A  DINNER  NOTE  FROM  DANIEL  WEBSTER        .        .         .  324 

XIV.     THE   FINE   ART   OF   LIVING 

"  THESE  FEW  PRECEPTS  " .        .        .        .        .                 .  325 

BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  SHUFFLES  THE  CARDS  AND  BEGINS 

ANOTHER    GAME.            .            .            .            .           .           .            .  325 

THE   FUTILITY   OF   MERE   FEELING 326 

HENRY  D.  THOREAU  ADVOCATES  WORK  —  WORK  —  WORK  328 

Erreur  bien  douloureuse .         .         .         .         ,         .  331 

"THE   HOUR   OF    PEACEFUL    REST" 332 

AN   ANTIDOTE   FOR    AGE 333 

"  IN    THE   HALF   WAY    HOUSE  " 333 

THE   DOMINANT   WILL 334 

XV.     "THE   CLOUD    ON   THE   WAY" 

"AFTER  THE  CURFEW" 336 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  BRINGS  HIS  MOTHER  HOME     .  338 
xxiii 


Contents 

PAGE 

THE     PHILOSOPHY     OF     COMPENSATION     AVAILS     NOT     TO 
COMFORT   ONE   WHO    MOURNS    HIS    SON    DEAD    IN    HIS 

BEAUTY         .            .           .           .           .           .           .           .           .  340 

"IMMORTAL  AWAY  FROM  ME"         .        .        .        .        .  341 

"THE  SAME  OLD  BAFFLING  QUESTIONS'' .        .        .        .  343 

THE  UNENDURABLE  PAIN         .        .       .       .       .        .  346 

•'GOOD  NIGHT,  SWEET  PRINCE" 346 

LEST  WE  GRIEVE  THE  DEAD     .         ...         .         .         .  347 

RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON    EXHORTS  THOMAS  CARLYLE 

TO  BE  STRONG  AND  ENDURE 348 

XVI.     THE   UNCONQUERABLE   HOPE 

JUDGING  FROM  THE  PAST,  BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  ANTICI 
PATES  THE   FUTURE  WITH   RATIONAL  ASSURANCE         .  350 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON  EXPOUNDS  HIS  CREED      .        .351 
JAMES  FREEMAN   CLARKE  COMPRESSES  HIS   INTO   FOUR 

WORDS .        .        .  352 

THE  PASSIONATE  PROTEST 354 

THE  PRIVILEGE  OF  COVENANTING  WITH  GOD  .       .       .  354 

"WITHIN  THE  GATE" .  356 

A  CHRISTMAS  LETTER 359 

THE   "  SOLE   GROUND   OF   HOPE  "  ^60 


XXIV 


THE    FRIENDLY   CRAFT 


THE    FRIENDLY   CRAFT 
I 

THE   RULES   OF   THE   CRAFT 


^1  T  7RITE  Lengthy  and  often. 


JOHN  HANCOCK 


W 


RITE    by  every  boat.    .   .    .     Tell  the  news  —  the 

news. 

RUFUS  CHOATE 


acknowledge  the  receipt  of  letters  is  always  proper, 
-*-     to  remove  doubts  of  their  miscarriage. 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON 


T  ETTERS  should  be  affectionate,  natural,  and  graceful 
A—*  —  almost  everybody  can  get  as  far  as  that  —  then 
make  them  as  witty,  or  sensible,  or  in  any  way  agreeable  as 

CATHARINE  M.  SEDGWICK 

1VJEVER  write  for  the  sake  of  covering  paper.  "  If  you 
•»•  ^  have  nothing  to  say,  say  nothing"  This  was  the 
advice  of  my  dearly  beloved  mother,  and  I  hand  it  down 

to  you. 

ABBY  HOPPER  GIBBONS 

B  I 


The  Friendly  Craft 

II 
A   MOOT   POINT   OF   CRAFTSMANSHIP 

I   WONDER   if  Eve   could   write   letters   in   Paradise  ! 
But,  poor  Eve,  she  had  no  one  to  write  to  —  no  one 
to  whom  to  tell  what  Eden  was,  no  beloved  child  to  whom 
her  love  traveled  through  any  or  all  space.     Poor  Eve! 

CATHARINE  M.  SEDGWICK 

I  SOMETIMES  think  one   of  the   great   blessings  we 
shall   enjoy  in  heaven,  will   be  to  receive  letters  by 
every  post  and  never  be  obliged  to  reply  to  them. 

WASHINGTON  IRVING 

III 

THE   NEWS  FROM   HOME 

Judge  Sewall  survives  the  earthquake    <^x     <^y     <^ 

("  To  the  Rev.d  President,  Mr.  Benjamin  Wadsworth 
at  Cambridge  ") 

Nav*  14,  1727 

REVP  SIR,  —  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  you  have  been 
so  far  Recovered  from  your  long  and  painfull 
Indisposition,  as  to  have  been  able  to  go  into  the  Hall 
again.  And  I  congratulat  with  you  our  having  survived 
the  late  terrible  Earthquake.  I  cannot  affirm  that  I  was 
shaken  by  it,  although  our  Kitchen  parrallel  to  our  Bed 
chamber,  and  near  it,  was  Rocquid  like  a  Cradle,  yet  the 
crashing  Noise  was  very  amazing  to  me.  For  I  was  just 
warm  in  my  Bed,  but  not  asleep.  The  young  people  were 

2 


Busy   Days 

quickly  frighted  out  of  the  Shaking  clattering  Kitchen, 
and  fled  with  weeping  Cryes  into  our  Chamber,  where 
they  made  a  fire,  and  abode  there  till  morning.  As  I  lay, 
the  good  Bp  and  his  Lady  came  to  my  mind,  who  were 
buried  in  their  Bed  in  the  desolating  Tempest  in  England  ; 
but  I  did  not  venture  to  tell  my  thoughts.  I  remember 
the  Earthquake  of  i66f  and  my  being  Shaken  by  it,  as  I 
sat  in  my  Father's  house  at  Newbury  in  a  Jam  of  the 
Chimney.  Oh  that  I  could  learn  to  fear  the  Lord  and  his 
Goodness  !  .  .  . 


The  busy  days  of  a  colonial  girl         ^*      -^>      ^> 
(Two  letters  from  Eliza  Lucas) 

I 

DEAR  MADAM,  — I  flatter  myself  it  will  be  a  satisfac 
tion  to  you  to  hear  I  like  this  part  of  the  world  as 
my  lott  has  fallen  here,  which  I  really  do.  I  prefer  Eng 
land  to  it  'tis  true,  but  think  Carolina  greatly  preferable  to 
the  West  Indies,  and  was  my  Papa  here  I  should  be  very 
happy.  We  have  a  very  good  acquaintance  from  whom 
we  have  received  much  friendship  and  Civility.  Charles 
Town  the  principal  one  in  this  province  is  a  polite 
agreeable  place,  the  people  live  very  Gentile  and  very 
much  in  the  English  taste.  The  Country  is  in  general 
fertile  and  abounds  with  Venson  and  with  fowl.  The 
Venson  is  much  higher  flavoured  than  in  England  but 
'tis  seldom  fatt. 

My  Papa  and  Mama's  great  indulgence  to  mee  leaves  it 
to  mee  to  chuse  our  place  of  residence  either  in  town  or 
country,  but  I  think  it  more  prudent  as  well  as  most 
agreeable  to  my  Mama  and  selfe  to  be  in  the  Country 
during  my  father's  absence.  Wee  are  17  mile  by  land, 
3 


The  Friendly  Craft 

and  6  by  water  from  Charles  Town  where  wee  have  about 
6  agreeable  families  around  us  with  whom  wee  live  in 
great  harmony.  I  have  a  little  library  well  furnished  (for 
my  Papa  has  left  mee  most  of  his  books)  in  w0.1.1  I  spend 
part  of  my  time.  My  Musick  and  the  Garden  wc:'>  I  am 
very  fond  of  take  up  the  rest  that  is  not  imployed  in  busi 
ness,  of  wc.k  my  father  has  left  mee  a  pretty  good  share, 
and  indeed  'twas  unavoidable,  as  my  Mama's  bad  state  of 
health  prevents  her  going  thro1  any  fatigue. 

I  have  the  business  of  3  plantations  to  transact,  w0.1} 
requires  much  writing  and  more  business  and  fatigue  of 
other  sorts  than  you  can  imagine,  but  least  you  should 
imagine  it  too  burthensome  to  a  girl  at  my  early  time  of 
life.,  give  mee  leave  to  assure  you  I  think  myself  happy 
that  I  can  be  useful  to  so  good  a  father.  By  rising  very 
early  I  find  I  can  go  through  with  much  business,  but 
least  you  should  think  I  Shall  be  quite  moaped  with  this 
way  of  life,  I  am  to  inform  you  there  is  two  worthy  ladies 
in  Cr?  Town,  Mrs  Pinckney  and  Mrs  Cleland  who  are  par 
tial  enough  to  mee  to  wish  to  have  mee  with  them,  and 
insist  upon  my  making  their  houses  my  home  when  in 
Town,  and  press  mee  to  relax  a  little  much  oftener  than  'tis 
in  my  power  to  accept  of  their  obliging  intreaties,  but  I  am 
sometimes  with  one  or  the  other  for  three  weeks  or  a 
monthe  at  a  time,  and  then  enjoy  all  the  pleasures  C.r?  Town 
affords.  But  nothing  gives  mee  more  than  subscribing 
myself 

D.r.  Madam 

Y.r.  most  affectionet  and 

Pray  remember  me  in  most  obliged  hum1}1.6  SerY* 

the  best  manner  to  my  ELIZA.  LUCAS 

worthy  friend  MJ.  Boddicott. 
To  my  good  friend  Mrs  Boddicott 

May  ye  2°r.d.      [probably  1740] 
4 


Trifling  Away  Time 


II 

WHY  my  dear  Miss  Bartlett,  will  you  so  often  repeat 
yl  desire  to  know  how  I  trifle  away  my  time  in  our 
retirement  in  my  father's  absence :  could  it  afford  you 
advantage  or  pleasure  I  would  not  have  hesitated,  but  as 
you  can  expect  neither  from  it  I  would  have  been  excused ; 
however,  to  show  you  my  readiness  in  obeying  y£  com 
mands,  here  it  is. 

In  genl  then  I  rise  at  five  o'Clock  in  the  morning,  read 
till  seven  —  then  take  a  walk  in  the  garden  or  fields,  see 
that  the  Servants  are  at  their  respective  business,  then 
to  breakfast.  The  first  hour  after  breakfast  is  spent  in 
musick,  the  next  is  constantly  employed  in  recolecting 
something  I  have  learned,  least  for  want  of  practice  it 
should  be  quite  lost,  such  as  french  and  short  hand. 
After  that,  I  devote  the  rest  of  the  time  till  I  dress  for 
dinner,  to  our  little  polly,  and  two  black  girls  who  I  teach 
to  read,  and  if  I  have  my  papa's  approbation  (my  mama's 
I  have  got)  I  intend  for  school  mistress's  for  the  rest  of 
the  Negroe  children.  Another  scheme  you  see,  but  to 
proceed,  the  first  hour  after  dinner,  as  the  first  after 
breakfast,  at  musick,  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  in  needle 
work  till  candle  light,  and  from  that  time  to  bed  time  read 
or  write ;  'tis  the  fashion  here  to  carry  our  work  abroad 
with  us  so  that  having  company,  without  they  are  great 
strangers,  is  no  interruption  to  yl  affair,  but  I  have  particu 
lar  matters  for  particular  days  \vch  is  an  interruption  to 
mine.  Mondays  my  musick  Master  is  here.  Tuesday  my 
friend  Ml8  Chardon  (about  3  miles  distant)  and  I  are  con 
stantly  engaged  to  each  other,  she  at  our  house  one  Tues 
day  I  at  hers  the  next,  and  this  is  one  of  yP.  happiest  days 
I  spend  at  Wappoo.  Thursday  the  whole  day  except  what 
the  necessary  affairs  of  the  family  take  up,  is  spent  in 


The  Friendly   Craft 

writing,  either  on  the  business  of  the  plantations  or  on 
letters  to  my  friends.  Every  other  Friday,  if  no  company, 
we  go  a  vizeting,  so  that  I  go  abroad  once  a  week  and  no 
oftener. 

Now  you  may  form  some  judgment  of  what  time  I  can 
have  to  work  my  lappets.  I  own  I  never  go  to  them  with 
a  quite  easy  conscience  as  I  know  my  father  has  an  aver- 
tion  to  my  employing  my  time  in  that  poreing  work,  but 
they  are  begun,  and  must  be  finished.  I  hate  to  undertake 
anything  and  not  go  thro'  with  it,  but  by  way  of  relaxation 
from  the  other,  I  have  begun  a  piece  of  work  of  a  quicker 
sort,  w^1  requires  neither  eyes  nor  genius,  at  least  not  very 
good  ones,  would  you  ever  guess  it  to  be  a  shrimp  nett  ? 
for  so  it  is. 

O  !  I  had  like  to  forgot  the  last  thing  I  have  done  a 
great  while.  I  have  planted  a  large  figg  orchard,  with 
design  to  dry  them,  and  export  them.  I  have  reckoned 
my  expence  and  the  prophets  to  arise  from  those  figgs, 
but  was  I  to  tell  you  how  great  an  Estate  I  am  to  make 
this  way,  and  how  :tis  to  be  laid  out,  you  would  think  me 
far  gone  in  romance.  Yr  good  Uncle  I  know  has  long 
thought  I  have  a  fertile  brain  at  scheming,  I  only  confirm 
him  in  his  oppinion ;  but  I  own  I  love  the  vegitable  world 
extreamely.  I  think  it  an  innocent  and  useful  amusement, 
and  pray  tell  him  if  he  laughs  much  at  my  projects,  I  never 
intend  to  have  any  hand  in  a  silver  mine,  and  he  will 
understand  as  well  as  you,  what  I  mean !  Our  best 
respects  wait  on  him,  and  M™  Pinckney  .  .  . 

Benjamin  Franklin  feels  better  and  is  glad  to  be  at  home. 
(To  his  sister,  Mrs.  Mecom,  from  Philadelphia, 

November,  1764) 

FIND  myself  at  present  quite  clear  from   pain, 
and  so  have  at  length  left   off  the  cold  bath. 
6 


I 


A   Rogue  and  a   Runaway 

There  is,  however,  still  some  weakness  in  my  shoulder^ 
though  much  stronger  than  when  I  left  Boston,  and 
mending.  I  am  otherwise  very  happy  in  being  at  home, 
where  I  am  allowed  to  know  when  I  have  eat  enough 
and  drunk  enough,  am  warm  enough,  and  sit  in  a  place 
that  I  like,  &c.,  and  nobody  pretends  to  know  what  I 
feel  better  than  I  do  myself.  .  .  . 

George  Washington  offers  his  negro  Tom  for  sale    *v> 
(To  Capt.  Joh.  Thompson) 

MOUNT  VERNON,  2.  July,  1766 

SIR: 
With  this  letter  comes  a  negro  (Tom),  which  I  beg 
the  favor  of  you  to  sell  in  any  of  the  Islands  you  may  go 
to,  for  whatever  he  will  fetch,  and  bring  me  in  return  from 
him 

One  hhd  of  best  molasses 

One  ditto  of  best  rum 

One  barrel  of  lymes,  if  good  and  cheap 

One  pot  of  tamarinds,  containing  about  10  Ibs 

Two  small  ditto  of  mixed  sweet  meats,  about  5  Ibs.  each. 

And  the  residue,  much  or  little,  in  good  old  spirits. 
That  this  fellow  is  both  a  rogue  and  a  runaway  (tho1  he 
was  by  no  means  remarkable  for  the  former,  and  never 
practised  the  latter  till  of  late)  I  shall  not  pretend  to  deny. 
But  that  he  is  exceeding  healthy,  strong,  and  good  at  the 
hoe,  the  whole  neighborhood  can  testify,  and  particularly 
Mr.  Johnson  and  his  son,  who  have  both  had  him  under 
them  as  foreman  of  the  gang  ;  which  gives  me  reason  to 
hope  he  may  with  your  good  management  sell  well,  if  kept 
clean  and  trirrTd  up  a  little  when  offered  for  sale. 

I  shall  very  chearfully  allow  you  the  customary  commis 
sions  on  this  affiir,  and  must  beg  the  favor  of  you  (lest  he 
should  attempt  his  escape)  to  keep  him  handcuffed  till  you 
7 


The  Friendly  Craft 

get  to  sea,  or  in  the  bay,  after  which  I  doubt  not  but  you 
may  make  him  very  useful  to  you. 

I  wish  you  a  pleasant  and  prosperous  passage,  and  a 
safe  and  speedy  return.  .  .  . 

John  Hancock  can  live  no  longer  without  Dolly    ^> 
PHILADELPHIA  ioth  March  1777 
10  o'clock  evening 

MY  DEAR   DEAR  DOLLY:     My  Detention  at  the 
Ferry  £  the  badness  of  the  Roads  prevented  my 
arriving  here  untill  Friday  Evening. 

I  put  my  things  into  Mr.  Williams'  house,  and  went  in 
pursuit  of  lodgings.  Neither  Mrs.  Yard  nor  Lucy  could 
accommodate  me.  I  then  went  to  Smith's  &  borrowed 
Two  Blankets  £  returned  to  my  own  house ;  soon  after 
which,  Mrs.  Smith  sent  me  up  a  very  handsome  supper, 
with  a  Table  cloth,  Knives  &  forks,  plates,  salt,  a  print  of 
Butter,  Tea,  double  refined  Sugar,  a  Bowl  of  Cream,  a 
Loaf  of  Bread  &c.  &c.  &  here  I  have  remain'd  &  shall  do 
so  waiting  your  arrival.  Indeed  Mrs.  Smith  oblig'd  me 
much.  I  however  lead  a  doleful  lonesome  life.  Tho1  on 
Saturday,  I  dined  at  Dr.  Shipping'.  He  desires  his  Re 
gards,  he  is  as  lonesome  as  I.  On  Saturday  I  sat  down 
to  Dinner  at  the  little  table  with  Folger  on  a  piece  of 
Roast  Beef  with  Potatoes.  We  drank  your  health  with 
all  our  Baltimore  friends.  Last  night  Miss  Lucy  came  to 
see  me,  &  this  morning,  while  I  was  at  Breakfast  on  Tea 
with  a  pewter  tea-spoon,  Mrs.  Yard  came  in.  She  could 
not  stay  to  Breakfast  with  me.  I  spend  my  evenings  at 
home,  snuff  my  candles  with  a  pair  of  scissors,  which  Lucy 
seeing,  sent  me  a  pair  of  snuffers,  &  dipping  the  gravy  out 
of  the  Dish  with  my  pewter  tea  spoon,  she  sent  me  a  large 
silver  spoon,  and  two  silver  tea  spoons  —  that  I  am  now 
quite  rich. 

8 


An  Abundance  of  Lies 

I  shall  make  out  as  well  as  I  can,  but  I  assure  you,  my 
Dear  Soul,  I  long  to  have  you  here,  &  I  know  you  will  be 
as  expeditious  as  you  can.  When  I  part  from  you  again 
it  must  be  a  very  extraordinary  occasion.  I  have  sent 
everywhere  to  get  a  gold  or  silver  rattle  for  the  child  with 
a  coral  to  send,  but  cannot  get  one.  I  will  have  one  if 
possible  on  yr.  coming.  I  have  sent  a  sash  for  her  &  two 
little  papers  of  pins  for  you.  If  you  do  not  want  them  you 
can  give  them  away. 

However  unsettled  things  may  be  I  could  not  help  send 
ing  for  you  as  I  cannot  live  in  this  way.  We  have  an 
abundance  of  lies.  The  current  report  is  General  Howe 
is  bent  on  coming  here,  another  report  is  that  the 
Merchfs  at  New  York  are  packing  their  goods  &  putting 
them  on  board  ships  &  that  the  troops  are  going  away, 
neither  of  which  do  I  believe.  We  must,  however  take 
our  chances,  this  you  may  depend  on,  that  you  will  be 
ever  the  object  of  my  utmost  care  &  attention. 

I  have  been  exceedingly  busy,  since  I  have  been  here, 
tho'  have  not  yet  made  a  Congress,  are  waiting  for  the 
South  Carolina  gentlemen.  ...  I  hope  you  will  be  able 
to  pack  up  all  your  things  quickly  &  have  them  on  the 
way,  &  that  you  will  soon  follow,  be  careful  in  packing  & 
do  not  leave  anything  behind.  Let  Harry  see  that  every 
thing  is  safely  stored  in  the  waggons.  I  send  Mr.  Mc 
Closky,  he  will  be  very  useful.  ...  I  was  exceeding  glad 
to  hear  from  you  &  hope  soon  to  receive  another  Letter. 
I  know  you  will  set  off  as  soon  as  You  can.  Endeavor  to 
make  good  stages.  You  may  easily  lodge  at  Mr.  Steles' 
at  Bush  the  first  night.  It  is  a  good  house.  However  I 
must  leave  those  matters  to  you  as  the  Road  must  in  a 
great  measure  determine  your  Stages.  I  do  not  imagine 
there  is  any  danger  of  the  small-pox  on  the  Road.  Wil 
mington  is  the  most  dangerous,  but  perhaps  you  can  order 
9 


The  Friendly  Craft 

your  stage  so  as  not  to  lodge  at  Wilmington,  but  go  on  to 
Chester.  I  want  to  get  somebody  cleaver  to  accompany 
you.  I  hope  to  send  one  to  you,  but  if  I  should  not  be 
able,  you  must  make  out  as  well  as  you  can. 

ii  March 

I  will  write  you  by  the  Post  tomorrow.  I  can't  add  as  I 
am  now  ealPd  on.  Take  good  care  of  Lydia.  I  hope  no 
accident  will  happen.  Inclosed  you  have  a  few  memo,  as 
to  pack'g,  &c.  which  I  submit  to  your  perusal. 

My  best  reg'ds  to  Mr.  &  Mrs.  Purviance  Capt  Nicholson 
&  Lady,  Mr.  Luce  &  family  &  indeed  all  friends.  My  love 
to  Miss  Katy,  tell  her  to  Ransack  the  house  &  leave  noth 
ing  behind.  The  Waggoners  will  attend  you  at  all  times. 
Remember  me  to  all  in  the  family.  May  every  blessing 
of  an  Indulgent  providence  attend  you.  I  most  sincerely 
wish  you  a  good  journey  &  hope  I  shall  soon,  very  soon, 
have  the  happiness  of  seeing  you  with  the  utmost  affection 
and  Love.  My  Dear  Dolly, 

I  am  yours  forever  JOHN  HANCOCK 

Doctor  Bond  call'd  on  me,  Desir'd  his  compliments. 
He  will  inoculate  the  child  as  soon  as  it  comes. 

Mrs.  Washington  got  here  on  Saturday.  I  went  to  see 
her.  She  told  me  she  Drank  tea  with  you.  .  .  . 

George  Washington   recounts  his  diurnal  pursuits  to 
James  McHenry      ^>     ^>     -^     <^>-     <^     <^> 

MOUNT  VERNON,  29  May,  1797 

DEAR  SIR, 
I  am  indebted  to  you   for  several  unacknowledged 
letters ;  but  never  mind  that ;  go  on  as  if  you  had  them. 
You  are  at  the  source  of  information,  and  can  find  many 
10 


Respect  or  Curiosity  ? 

things  to  relate ;  while  I  have  nothing  to  say,  that  could 
either  inform  or  amuse  a  Secretary  at  War  in  Philadelphia. 
I  might  tell  him,  that  I  begin  my  diurnal  course  with  the 
sun ;  that,  if  my  hirelings  are  not  in  their  places  at  that 
time  I  send  them  messages  expressive  of  my  sorrow  for 
their  indisposition ;  that,  having  put  these  wheels  in  motion, 
I  examine  the  state  of  things  further;  and  the  more  they 
are  probed,  the  deeper  I  find  the  wounds  are  which  my 
buildings  have  sustained  by  an  absence  and  neglect  of  eight 
years;  by  the  time  I  have  accomplished  these  matters, 
breakfast  (a  little  after  seven  o'clock,  about  the  time  I 
presume  you  are  taking  leave  of  Mrs.  McHenry),  is  ready ; 
that,  this  being  over,  I  mount  my  horse  and  ride  round  my 
farms,  which  employs  me  until  it  is  time  to  dress  for  dinner, 
at  which  I  rarely  miss  seeing  strange  faces,  come  as  they 
say  out  of  respect  for  me.  Pray,  would  not  the  word 
curiosity  answer  as  well  ?  And  how  different  this  from 
having  a  few  social  friends  at  a  cheerful  board !  The  usual 
time  of  sitting  at  table,  a  walk,  and  tea,  brings  me  within 
the  dawn  of  candle  light ;  previous  to  which,  if  not  pre 
vented  by  company,  I  resolve,  that,  as  soon  as  the  glimmer 
ing  taper  supplies  the  place  of  the  great  luminary,  I  will 
retire  to  my  writing-table  and  acknowledge  the  letters  I 
have  received ;  but  when  the  lights  are  brought,  I  feel 
tired  and  disinclined  to  engage  in  this  work,  conceiving 
that  the  next  night  will  do  as  well.  The  next  comes,  and 
with  it  the  same  causes  for  postponement,  and  effect,  and 
so  on.  ... 

John  Adams  bids  his  wife  COME    ^>     x^     -^>     *o 

NEW  YORK,  14  May,  1789 

MY  DEAREST  FRIEND, 
I  have  received  yours  of  the  5$.      If  you  think  it 
best,  leave  Thomas  at  college,  but  I  pray  you  to  come  on 
ii 


The  Friendly  Craft 

with  Charles,  as  soon  as  possible.  As  to  the  place,  let  my 
brother  plough  and  plant  as  he  will,  as  much  as  he  will. 
He  may  send  me  my  half  of  the  butter,  cheese,  &c.,  here. 
As  to  money  to  bear  your  expenses,  you  must,  if  you  can, 
borrow  of  some  friend,  enough  to  bring  you  here.  If  you 
cannot  borrow  enough,  you  must  sell  horses,  oxen,  sheep, 
cows,  anything  at  any  rate  rather  than  not  come  on.  If  no 
one  will  take  the  place,  leave  it  to  the  birds  of  the  air  and 
beasts  of  the  field,  but  at  all  events  break  up  that  estab 
lishment  and  that  household.  .  .  . 

I  am,  &c.,  tenderly, 

JOHN  ADAMS 

President  Adams   invokes  a   blessing   on   the   White 
House    ^>^>^y*^*^x^x^y^* 
(To  his  wife) 

PRESIDENT'S  HOUSE,  WASHINGTON  CITY, 
2  November,  1800 

MY  DEAREST  FRIEND, 
We    arrived   here  last  night,  or  rather  yesterday, 
at  one  o'clock,  and  here  we  dined  and  slept.     The  build 
ing  is  in  a  state  to  be  habitable,  and  now  we  wish  for  your 
company.   .   .   . 

I  have  seen  only  Mr.  Marshall  and  Mr.  Stoddert,  Gen 
eral  Wilkinson  and  the  two  commissioners,  Mr.  Scott  and 
Mr.  Thornton.  I  shall  say  nothing  of  public  affairs.  I 
am  very  glad  you  consented  to  come  on,  for  you  would 
have  been  more  anxious  at  Quincy  than  here,  and  I,  to  all 
my  other  solicitudines  mordaces,  as  Horace  calls  them, 
i.e.f  "biting  cares,11  should  have  added  a  great  deal  on 
your  account.  Besides,  it  is  fit  and  proper  that  you  and  I 
should  retire  together,  and  not  one  before  the  other.  Be 
fore  I  end  my  letter,  I  pray  heaven  to  bestow  the  best  of 
blessings  on  this  house,  and  on  all  that  shall  hereafter  in- 
12 


No  Great  Comfort 

habit  it.     May  none  but  honest  and  wise  men  ever  rule 
under  this  roof !  .  .  . 

I  am,  with  unabated  confidence  and  affection,  your 

JOHN  ADAMS 

But  Mrs.  Adams  finds  the  house  inconvenient         ^> 
(To  her  daughter) 

WASHINGTON,  21  November,  1800 

MY  DEAR  CHILD, 
I  arrived  here  on  Sunday  last,  and  without  meeting 
with  any  accident  worth  noticing,  except  losing  ourselves 
when  we  left  Baltimore,  and  going  eight  or  nine  miles  on 
the  Frederick  road,  by  which  means  we  were  obliged  to 
go  the  other  eight  through  woods,  where  we  wandered  two 
hours  without  finding  a  guide,  or  the  path.  Fortunately, 
a  straggling  black  came  up  with  us,  and  we  engaged  him 
as  a  guide,  to  extricate  us  out  of  our  difficulty ;  but  woods 
are  all  you  see,  from  Baltimore  until  you  reach  the  city, 
which  is  only  so  in  name.  Here  and  there  is  a  small  cot, 
without  a  glass  window,  interspersed  amongst  the  forests, 
through  which  you  travel  miles  without  seeing  any  human 
being.  In  the  city  there  are  buildings  enough,  if  they  were 
compact  and  finished,  to  accommodate  Congress  and  those 
attached  to  it ;  but  as  they  are,  and  scattered  as  they  are, 
I  see  no  great  comfort  for  them.  The  river,  which  runs  up 
to  Alexandria,  is  in  full  view  of  my  window,  and  I  see  the 
vessels  pass  and  repass.  The  house  is  upon  a  grand  and 
superb  scale,  requiring  about  thirty  servants  to  attend  and 
keep  the  apartments  in  proper  order,  and  perform  the  or 
dinary  business  of  the  house  and  stables  ;  an  establish 
ment  very  well  proportioned  to  the  President's  salary. 
The  lighting  the  apartments,  from  the  kitchen  to  parlours 
and  chambers,  is  a  tax  indeed  ;  and  the  fires  we  are  obliged 
13 


The  Friendly  Craft 

to  keep  to  secure  us  from  daily  agues  is  another  very  cheer 
ing  comfort.  To  assist  us  in  this  great  castle,  and  render 
less  attendance  necessary,  bells  are  wholly  wanting,  not 
one  single  one  being  hung  through  the  whole  house,  and 
promises  are  all  you  can  obtain.  This  is  so  great  an  in 
convenience,  that  I  know  not  what  to  do,  or  how  to  do. 
The  ladies  from  Georgetown  and  in  the  city  have  many  of 
them  visited  me.  Yesterday  I  returned  fifteen  visits,  —  but 
such  a  place  as  Georgetown  appears,  —  why,  our  Milton  is 
beautiful.  But  no  comparisons  ;  — if  they  will  put  me  up 
some  bells,  and  let  me  have  wood  enough  to  keep  fires,  I 
design  to  be  pleased.  .  .  . 

You  must  keep  all  this  to  yourself,  and,  when  asked  how 
I  like  it,  say  that  I  write  you  the  situation  is  beautiful, 
which  is  true.  The  house  is  made  habitable,  but  there  is 
not  a  single  apartment  finished,  and  all  withinside,  except 
the  plastering,  has  been  done  since  Bresler  came.  We 
have  not  the  least  fence,  yard,  or  other  convenience,  with 
out,  and  the  great  unfinished  audience-room  I  make  a  dry 
ing-room  of,  to  hang  up  the  clothes  in.  ... 

Thomas  comes  in  and  says  a  House  is  made ;  so 
to-morrow,  though  Saturday,  the  President  will  meet  them. 
Adieu,  my  dear.  Give  my  love  to  your  brother,  and  tell 
him  he  is  ever  present  upon  my  mind.  Affectionately 
your  mother, 

A.  ADAMS 


I 


Sarah  Grimke"  describes  a  quaint  wedding  *Qy  ^>. 
MUST  now  give  thee  some  account  of  my  dear 
sister's  marriage,  which  probably  thou  hast  al 
ready  heard  of.  Her  precious  husband  is  emphatically 
a  man  of  God,  a  member  of  the  Presbyterian  Church.  Of 
course  Angelina  will  be  disowned  for  forming  this  connec 
tion,  and  I  shall  be  for  attending  the  marriage.  We  feel  no 


Free  Utterance 

regret  at  this  circumstance,  believing  that  the  discipline 
which  cuts  us  off  from  membership  for  an  act  so  strictly  in 
conformity  with  the  will  of  God,  and  so  sanctioned  by  His 
word  as  is  the  marriage  of  the  righteous,  must  be  anti-Chris 
tian,  and  I  am  thankful  for  an  opportunity  to  testify  against  it. 
The  marriage  was  solemnized  at  the  house  of  our  sister, 
Anna  R.  Frost,  in  Philadelphia,  on  the  I4th  instant 
[May,  1838].  By  the  law  of  Pennsylvania,  a  marriage 
is  legal  if  witnessed  by  twelve  persons.  Neither  clergy 
man  nor  magistrate  is  required  to  be  present.  Angelina 
could  not  conscientiously  consent  to  be  married  by  a 
clergyman,  and  Theodore  D.  Weld  cheerfully  consented 
to  have  the  marriage  solemnized  in  such  manner  as 
comported  with  her  views.  We  all  felt  that  the  presence 
of  a  magistrate,  a  stranger,  would  be  unpleasant  to  us 
at  such  a  time,  and  we  therefore  concluded  to  invite  such 
of  our  friends  as  we  desired,  and  have  the  marriage 
solemnized  as  a  religious  act,  in  a  religious  and  social 
meeting.  Neither  Theodore  nor  Angelina  felt  as  if  they 
could  bind  themselves  to  any  preconceived  form  of  words, 
and  accordingly  uttered  such  as  the  Lord  gave  them  at 
the  moment.  Theodore  addressed  Angelina  in  a  solemn 
and  tender  manner.  He  alluded  to  the  unrighteous  power 
vested  in  a  husband  by  the  laws  of  the  United  States 
over  the  person  and  property  of  his  wife,  and  he  abjured 
all  authority,  all  government,  save  the  influence  which 
love  would  give  to  them  over  each  other  as  moral  and 
immortal  beings.  I  would  give  much  could  I  recall  his 
words,  but  I  cannot.  Angelina's  address  to  him  was  brief 
but  comprehensive,  containing  a  promise  to  honor  him,  to 
prefer  him  above  herself,  to  love  him  with  a  pure  heart 
fervently.  Immediately  after  this  we  knelt,  and  dear 
Theodore  poured  out  his  soul  in  solemn  supplication  for 
the  blessing  of  God  on  their  union,  that  it  might  be 
15 


The  Friendly  Craft 

productive  of  enlarged  usefulness,  and  increased  sympathy 
for  the  slave.  Angelina  followed  in  a  melting  appeal 
to  our  Heavenly  Father,  for  a  blessing  on  them,  and 
that  their  union  might  glorify  Him,  and  then  asked  His 
guidance  and  over-shadowing  love  through  the  rest  of 
their  pilgrimage.  A  colored  Presbyterian  minister  then 
prayed,  and  was  followed  by  a  white  one,  and  then  I 
felt  as  if  I  could  not  restrain  the  language  of  praise  and 
thanksgiving  to  Him  who  had  condescended  to  be  in 
the  midst  of  this  marriage  feast,  and  to  pour  forth  abun 
dantly  the  oil  and  wine  of  consolation  and  rejoicing. 
The  Lord  Jesus  was  the  first  guest  invited  to  be  present, 
and  He  condescended  to  bless  us  with  His  presence,  and 
to  sanction  and  sanctify  the  union  which  was  thus  con 
summated.  The  certificate  was  then  read  by  William  Lloyd 
Garrison,  and  was  signed  by  the  company.  The  evening 
was  spent  in  pleasant  social  intercourse.  Several  colored 
persons  were  present,  among  them  two  liberated  slaves, 
who  formerly  belonged  to  our  father,  had  come  by  inheri 
tance  to  sister  Anna,  and  had  been  freed  by  her.  They 
were  our  invited  guests,  and  we  thus  had  an  opportunity 
to  bear  our  testimony  against  the  horrible  prejudice  which 
prevails  against  colored  persons,  and  the  equally  awful 
prejudice  against  the  poor.  .  .  . 

Showing  that  the  couple  lived  happily  ever  after      -<^y 
(Mrs.  Weld  to  Miss  Grimke,  Sept.,  1838) 

*  '  '  A  A  7"^  have  Jus*  come  UP  from  our  evening  meal, 

V  V     my  beloved  sister,  and  are  sitting  in  our  little 

study,  for  a  while  before  taking  our  moonlight  ramble  on 

the   river  bank.      After   thou   left   us,    I    cleared   up   the 

dishes,   and   then    swept    the   house ;    got    down    to    the 

kitchen  just  in  time  for  dinner,  which,  though  eaten  alone, 

16 


Burnt  Apples 

was,  I  must  confess,  very  much  relished,  for  exercise 
gives  a  good  appetite,  thou  knowest.  I  then  set  my  beans 
to  boil  whilst  I  dusted,  and  was  upstairs  waiting,  ready 
dressed,  for  the  sound  of  the  "  Echo's  "  piston.  Soon  I 
heard  it,  and  blew  my  whistle,  which  was  not  responded 
to,  and  I  began  to  fear  my  Theodore  was  not  on  board. 
But  I  blew  again,  and  the  glad  response  came  merrily 
over  the  water,  and  I  thought  I  saw  him.  In  a  little  while 
he  came,  and  gave  me  all  your  parting  messages.  On 
Second  Day  the  weather  was  almost  cold,  and  we  were 
glad  to  take  a  run  at  noon  up  the  Palisades  and  sun 
ourselves  on  the  rock  at  the  first  opening.  Returning, 
we  gathered  some  field  beans,  and  some  apples  for  stewing, 
as  our  fruit  was  nearly  out.  In  the  evening  it  was  so  cool 
that  we  thought  a  fire  would  be  more  comfortable,  so 
we  sat  in  the  kitchen,  paring  apples,  shelling  beans,  and 
talking  over  the  Bible  argument  [against  slavery]  ;  and, 
as  we  had  a  fire,  I  thought  we  had  better  stew  the  apples 
at  once.  This  was  done  to  save  time  the  next  day,  but 
I  burnt  them  sadly.  However,  thou  knowest  they  were 
just  as  nice  to  our  Theodore,  who  never  complains  of 
anything.  Third  Day  evening  we  took  a  walk  up  the 
Palisades.  The  moon  shone  most  beautifully,  throwing 
her  mantle  of  light  all  abroad  over  the  blue  arch  of  heaven, 
the  gently  flowing  river,  and  the  woods  and  vales  around 
us.  I  could  not  help  thinking,  if  earth  was  so  lovely  and 
bright,  what  must  be  the  glories  of  that  upper  Temple 
which  needeth  not  the  light  of  the  sun  or  of  the  moon. 
O  sister,  shall  we  ever  wash  our  robes  so  white  in  the 
blood  of  the  Lamb  as  to  be  clean  enough  to  enter  that 
pure  and  holy  Temple  of  the  Most  High  ?  We  returned 
to  our  dear  little  home,  and  went  to  bed  by  the  lamp  of 
heaven ;  for  we  needed  no  other,  so  brightly  did  she 
shine  through  our  windows.  We  remembered  thee,  dear 
c  17 


The  Friendly  Craft 

sister,  in  our  little  seasons  of  prayer  at  the  opening  and 
closing  of  each  day.  We  pray  the  Lord  to  bring  thee 
back  to  us  in  the  fulness  of  the  blessing  of  the  Gospel 
of  peace,  and  to  make  our  house  a  home  to  thy  weary, 
tossed,  afflicted  spirit.  We  feel  it  a  great  blessing  to 
have  thee  under  our  roof.  Thy  room  looks  very  desolate ; 
for,  though  the  sun  shines  brightly  in  it,  I  find,  after  all, 
thou  art  the  light  of  it.  ... 

The  "  delectable  way  of  life  "  at  Brook  Farm    ^>  -^ 

(To  Louisa  Hawthorne) 
BROOK  FARM,  WEST  ROXBURY,  May  3,  1841 

AS  the  weather  precludes  all  possibility  of  ploughing, 
hoeing,  sowing,  and  other  such  operations,  I  bethink 
me  that  you  may  have  no  objections  to  hear  something  of 
my  whereabout  and  whatabout.  You  are  to  know,  then, 
that  I  took  up  my  abode  here  on  the  i2th  ultimo,  in  the 
midst  of  a  snow-storm,  which  kept  us  all  idle  for  a  day  or 
two.  At  the  first  glimpse  of  fair  weather,  Mr.  Ripley 
summoned  us  into  the  cow-yard,  and  introduced  me  to  an 
instrument  with  four  prongs,  commonly  entitled  a  dung-fork. 
With  this  tool  I  have  already  assisted  to  load  twenty  or 
thirty  carts  of  manure,  and  shall  take  part  in  loading  nearly 
three  hundred  more.  Besides,  I  have  planted  potatoes 
and  pease,  cut  straw  and  hay  for  the  cattle,  and  done  various 
other  mighty  works.  This  very  morning  I  milked  three 
cows,  and  I  milk  two  or  three  every  night  and  morning. 
The  weather  has  been  so  unfavorable  that  we  have  worked 
comparatively  little  in  the  fields ;  but,  nevertheless,  I  have 
gained  strength  wonderfully, — grown  quite  a  giant,  in 
fact,  —  and  can  do  a  day's  work  without  the  slightest  in 
convenience.  In  short,  I  am  transformed  into  a  complete 
farmer. 

18 


Transcendental  Farming 

This  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  places  I  ever  saw  in  my 
life,  and  as  secluded  as  if  it  were  a  hundred  miles  from  any 
city  or  village.  There  are  woods,  in  which  we  can  ramble 
all  day  without  meeting  anybody  or  scarcely  seeing  a 
house.  Our  house  stands  apart  from  the  main  road,  so 
that  we  are  not  troubled  even  with  passengers  looking  at 
us.  Once  in  a  while  we  have  a  transcendental  visitor, 
such  as  Mr.  Alcott ;  but  generally  we  pass  whole  days 
without  seeing  a  single  face,"  save  those  of  the  brethren. 
The  whole  fraternity  eat  together ;  and  such  a  delectable 
way  of  life  has  never  been  seen  on  earth  since  the  days  of 
the  early  Christians.  We  get  up  at  half-past  four,  break 
fast  at  half-past  six,  dine  at  half-past  twelve,  and  go  to  bed 
at  nine. 

The  thin  frock  which  you  made  for  me  is  considered  a 
most  splendid  article,  and  I  should  not  wonder  if  it  were 
to  become  the  summer  uniform  of  the  Community.  I  have 
a  thick  frock,  likewise ;  but  it  is  rather  deficient  in  grace, 
though  extremely  warm  and  comfortable.  I  wear  a  tre 
mendous  pair  of  cowhide  boots,  with  soles  two  inches  thick, 
—  of  course,  when  I  come  to  see  you  I  shall  wear  my 
farmer's  dress. 

...  I  would  write  more,  but  William  Allen  is  going 
to  the  village,  and  must  have  this  letter,  so  good-by. 

NATH.  HAWTHORNE,  Ploughman. 

Mr.  Hawthorne  gets  breakfast      <^>-      ^>      ^^      ^> 

(Mrs.  Hawthorne  to  her  mother,  from  the  Manse, 
Concord) 

December  27,  1843 

.  .  .   "\  1  TE  had  a  most  enchanting  time  during  Mary  the 
»  V     cook's  holiday  sojourn  in  Boston.    We  remained 
in  our  bower  undisturbed  by  mortal  creature.     Mr.  Haw- 
19 


The  Friendly  Craft 

thorne  took  the  new  phasis  of  housekeeper,  and,  with  that 
marvellous  power  of  adaptation  to  circumstances  that  he 
possesses,  made  everything  go  easily  and  well.  He  rose 
betimes  in  the  mornings,  and  kindled  fires  in  the  kitchen 
and  breakfast-room,  and  by  the  time  I  came  down,  the 
tea-kettle  boiled,  and  potatoes  were  baked  and  rice  cooked, 
and  my  lord  sat  with  a  book,  superintending.  Just  im 
agine  that  superb  head  peeping  at  the  rice  or  examining 
the  potatoes  with  the  air  and  port  of  a  monarch !  And 
that  angelica  riso  on  his  face,  lifting  him  clean  out  of  culi 
nary  scenes  into  the  arc  of  the  gods.  It  was  a  magnificent 
comedy  to  watch  him,  so  ready  and  willing  to  do  these 
things  to  save  me  an  effort,  and  at  the  same  time  so 
superior  to  it  all,  and  heroical  in  aspect,  —  so  unconsonant 
to  what  was  about  him.  I  have  a  new  sense  of  his  uni 
versal  power  from  this  novel  phasis  of  his  life.  It  seems 
as  if  there  were  no  side  of  action  to  which  he  is  not  equal, 
—  at  home  among  the  stars,  and,  for  my  sake,  patient  and 
effective  over  a  cooking-stove. 

Our  breakfast  was  late,  because  we  concluded  to  have 
only  breakfast  and  dinner.  After  breakfast,  I  put  the 
beloved  study  into  very  nice  order,  and,  after  establishing 
him  in  it,  proceeded  to  make  smooth  all  things  below. 
When  I  had  come  to  the  end  of  my  labors,  my  dear  lord 
insisted  on  my  sitting  with  him  ;  so  I  sat  by  him  and 
sewed,  while  he  wrote,  with  now  and  then  a  little  discourse  ; 
and  this  was  very  enchanting.  At  about  one,  we  walked 
to  the  village ;  after  three,  we  dined.  On  Christmas  day 
we  had  a  truly  Paradisiacal  dinner  of  preserved  quince 
and  apple,  dates,  and  bread  and  cheese,  and  milk.  The 
washing  of  dishes  took  place  in  the  mornings ;  so  we  had 
our  beautiful  long  evenings  from  four  o'clock  to  ten.  .  .  . 


20 


Little  Una  Sleeps 

Mrs.  Hawthorne  tells  her  mother  that  the  baby  sleeps 
and  smiles     -<^>  ^>-    ^x>    ^>    -«^>    ^>    ^o    *^y 

April  4,  1844 

MY  DEAREST  MOTHER,  —  / have  no  time—**  you 
may  imagine.  I  am  baby's  tire-woman,  handmaiden, 
and  tender,  as  well  as  nursing  mother.  My  husband  re 
lieves  me  with  her  constantly,  and  gets  her  to  sleep  beauti 
fully.  I  look  upon  him  with  wonder  and  admiration.  He 
is  with  me  all  the  time  when  he  is  not  writing  or  exercis 
ing.  I  do  not  think  I  shall  have  any  guests  this  spring 
and  summer,  for  I  cannot  leave  Baby  a  minute  to  enact 
hostess ;  it  is  a  sweet  duty  that  must  take  precedence  of 
all  others. 

Wednesday  —  Dearest  mother,  little  Una  sleeps.  — 
Thursday  —  Dearest  mother,  yesterday  little  Una  waked 
also,  and  I  had  to  go  to  her.  But  she  sleeps  again 
this  morning.  She  smiles  and  smiles  and  smiles,  and 
makes  grave  remarks  in  a  dovelike  voice.  Her  eye 
lashes  are  longer  every  morning,  and  bid  fair  to  be,  as 
Cornelia  said  Mr  Hawthorne's  were,  "  a  mile  long  and 
curled  up  at  the  end."  Her  mouth  is  sweetly  curved,  and, 
as  Mary  the  cook  prettily  says,  "  it  has  so  many  lovely 
stirs  in  it."  Her  hands  and  fingers  —  ye  stars  and  gods  ! 

In  spite  of  the  heat,  George  William  Curtis  succeeds 
in  writing  poetry     ^>    ^>    ^>    -<^>    -^    *o> 

(To  John  S.  Dwight) 

CONCORD,  June  26th,  1844 

'T^HESE  are  Tophetic  times.      I   doubt  if  the  sturdy 
J-     faith  of  those  heroes,  Shadrach  and  co.,  would  carry 
them  through  this  fervor  unliquefied.    Their  much  vaunted 
21 


The  Friendly  Craft 

furnace  was  but  a  cool  retreat  where  thoughts  of  great 
coats  were  possible,  compared  with  this.  And  if  that 
nether  region  of  whose  fires  so  much  is  sung  by  poets  and 
other  men  possessed,  can  offer  hotter  heats,  let  them  be 
produced.  Those  Purgatorial  ardencies  for  the  gentle 
suggestion  of  torment  to  their  shades  can  have  little  in 
common  with  these  perspiration-compelling  torridities. 
Why  does  not  some  ingenious  Yankee  improve  such  times 
for  the  purchase,  at  a  ruinous  discount,  of  all  thick  clothes? 
I  tremble  lest  some  one  should  offer  me  an  ice-cream  for 
my  best  woollens!  Is  it  human  to  resist  such  an  offer? 
Does  it  not  savor  something  of  Devildom,  and  a  too  great 
familiarity  with  that  lower  Torrid  Zone,  to  entertain  such 
a  proposition 'coolly?  when  such  a  word  grows  suddenly 
obsolete  in  such  seasons?  If  I  venture  to  move,  such  an 
atmosphere  of  heat  is  created  immediately  around  my  body 
that  all  cool  breezes  (if  the  imagination  is  competent  to 
such  a  conception)  are  like  arid  airs  when  they  reach  my 
mouth.  Perhaps  we  are  tending  to  those  final,  fiery  days 
of  which  Miller  is  a  prophet.  We  are  slowly  sinking,  per 
haps,  from  heat  to  heat,  until  entire  rarefication  and  evan- 
ishment  in  imperceptible  vapor  ensues ;  and  so  the  great 
experiment  of  a  world  may  end  in  smoke,  as  many  minor 
ones  have  ended.  If  it  were  not  so  hot,  I  should  love  to 
think  about  these  things. 

June  28th.  So  far  I  had  proceeded  on  the  afternoon  I 
returned  to  Concord.  When  I  desisted  I  supposed  I  had 
inscribed  my  final  manuscript,  and  that  only  a  cinder 
would  be  found  sitting  over  it  when  some  one  should 
enter.  Yet  by  the  Providence  of  God  I  am  preserved  for 
the  experience  of  greater  heats.  I  did  not  know  before 
wha^t  was  the  capacity  of  endurance  of  the  human  frame. 
I  begin  to  suspect  we  are  of  nearer  kin  to  the  Salamander 
than  our  pride  will  allow ;  and  since  Devils  only  are 

22 


Melting  Poetry 

admitted  to  nether  fire,  I  begin  to  lapse  into  the  credence 
of  total  depravity  ! !  Reflect  upon  my  deplorable  condi 
tion  !  As  Shelley's  body,  when  lifeless,  was  caused  to 
disappear  in  flames  and  smoke,  so  may  mine  before  its 
tenant  is  departed.  Was  it  not  prophetic  that  on  Sunday 
afternoon  the  following  lines  came  to  me  while  thinking  of 
that  poet  ? 

SHELLEY 

A  smoke  that  delicately  curled  to  heaven, 
Mingling  its  blueness  with  the  infinite  blue, 

So  to  the  air  the  faded  form  was  given, 
So  unto  fame  the  gentle  spirit  grew. 

And  as  Shelley  and  Keats  are  associated  always  together 
in  my  mind,  immediately  the  Muse  gave  me  this : 

KEATS 

A  youth  did  plight  his  troth  to  Poesy. 

"  Thee  only,"  were  the  fervent  words  he  said, 
Then  sadly  sailed  across  the  foaming  sea, 

And  lay  beneath  the  southern  sunset  dead. 

I  was  glad  that  once  I  could  express  what  I  think  about 
those  men.  These  will  show  you,  but  you  must  write  your 
own  poem  upon  them  before  you  will  be  satisfied.  Is  it 
not  so  always  ?  We  cannot  speak  much  about  poets  until 
our  thought  of  them  sings  itself.  .  .  . 

My  dear  friend,  I  shall  melt  and  be  mailed  in  this  letter 
as  a  spot  if  I  do  not  surcease.  May  you  be  blessed  with 
frigidity,  a  blessing  far  removed  from  my  hope.  Of  course 
I  must  be  warmly,  nay,  hotly  remembered  to  Charles. 

Yrs  ever, 

G.  W.  C. 

From  the  "  Early  Letters  of  George  William  Curtis  to  John  S.  Dwight," 
published  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 

23 


The  Friendly  Craft 

George  William  Curtis  turns  farmer     ^>       ^^      ^* 
(To  John  S.  D wight) 

CONCORD,  August  yth,  1844 

MY  regret  at  not  seeing  you  was  only  lessened  by  the 
beautiful  day  I  passed  with  Mr.  Hawthorne.  His 
life  is  so  harmonious  with  the  antique  repose  of  his  house, 
and  so  redeemed  into  the  present  by  his  infant,  that  it  is 
much  better  to  sit  an  hour  with  him  than  hear  the  Rev. 
Barzillai  Frost !  His  baby  is  the  most  serenely  happy  I 
ever  saw.  It  is  very  beautiful,  and  lies  amid  such  placid 
influences  that  it  too  may  have  a  milk-white  lamb  as 
emblem ;  and  Mrs.  Hawthorne  is  so  tenderly  respectful 
towards  her  husband  that  all  the  romance  we  picture  in 
a  cottage  of  lovers  dwells  subdued  and  dignified  with 
them.  I  see  them  very  seldom.  The  people  here  who 
are  worth  knowing,  I  find,  live  very  quietly  and  retired. 
In  the  country,  friendship  seems  not  to  be  of  that  con 
suming,  absorbing  character  that  city  circumstances  give 
it,  but  to  be  quite  content  to  feel  rather  than  hear  or  do ; 
and  that  very  independence  which  withdraws  them  into 
the  privacy  of  their  homes  is  the  charm  which  draws  thither. 

Mr.  Emerson  read  an  address  before  the  antislavery 
"  friends  "  last  Thursday.  It  was  very  fine.  Not  of  that 
cold,  clear,  intellectual  character  which  so  many  dislike, 
but  ardent  and  strong.  His  recent  reading  of  the  history 
of  the  cause  has  given  him  new  light  and  warmed  a  fine 
enthusiasm.  ...  It  was  nearly  two  hours  long,  but  was 
very  commanding.  He  looked  genial  and  benevolent,  as 
who  should  smilingly  defy  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the 
devil  to  ensnare  him.  The  address  will  be  published  by 
the  society ;  and  he  will  probably  write  it  more  fully,  and 
chisel  it  into  fitter  grace  for  the  public  criticism.  .  .  . 

For  the  last  six  weeks  I  have  been  learning  what  hard 
work  is.  Afternoon  leisure  is  now  remembered  with  the 
24 


Mowing  and  Sweating 

holiday  which  Saturday  brought  to  the  school-boy.  Dur 
ing  the  haying  we  have  devoted  all  our  time  and  faculty 
to  the  making  of  hay,  leaving  the  body  at  night  fit  only 
to  be  devoted  to  sheets  and  pillows,  and  not  to  grave  or 
even  friendly  epistolary  intercourse.  Oh  friends !  live  upon 
faith,  say  I,  as  I  pitch  into  bed  with  the  ghosts  of  Sunday 
morning  resolutions  of  letters  tickling  my  sides  or  thump 
ing  my  back,  and  then  sink  into  dreams  where  every  day 
seems  a  day  in  the  valley  of  Ajalon,  and  innumerable 
Joshuas  command  the  sun  and  moon  to  stay,  and  uni 
versal  leisure  spreads  over  the  universe  like  a  great  wind. 
Then  comes  mcfrning  and  wakeful  ness  and  boots  and 
breakfast  and  scythes  and  heat  and  fatigue,  and  all  my 
venerable  Joshuas  endeavor  in  vain  to  make  oxen  stand 
still,  and  I  heartily  wish  them  and  I  back  in  our  valley 
ruling  the  heavens  and  not  bending  scythes  over  unseen 
hassocks  which  do  sometimes  bend  the  words  of  our 
mouths  into  shapes  resembling  oaths!  those  most  crooked 
of  all  speech,  but  therefore  best  and  fittest  for  the  occa 
sional  crooks  of  life,  particularly  mowing.  Yet  I  mow 
and  sweat  and  get  tired  very  heartily,  for  I  want  to  drink 
this  cup  of  farming  to  the  bottom  and  taste  not  only  the 
morning  froth  but  the  afternoon  and  evening  strength  of 
dregs  and  bitterness,  if  there  be  any.  When  haying  is 
over,  which  event  will  take  place  on  Saturday  night  of  this 
week,  fair  weather  being  vouchsafed,  I  shall  return  to  my 
moderation.  Towards  the  latter  part  of  the  month  I  shall 
stray  away  towards  Providence  and  Newport  and  sit  down 
by  the  sea,  and  in  it,  too,  probably.  So  I  shall  pass  until  har 
vest.  Where  the  snows  will  fall  upon  me  I  cannot  yet  say. 
...  I  know  you  will  write  when  the  time  comes,  so  I 
say  nothing  but  that  I  am  your  friend  ever.  G.  W.  C. 

From  the  "  Early  Letters  of  George  William  Curtis  to  John  S.  Dwight," 
published  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 

25 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Mr.  Thoreau  sends  Concord  news  to  Mr.  Emerson  in 
England    -^x      ^>      x^x      <^v      "Oy      •<^y      x^, 

CONCORD,  November  14,  1847 

DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  am  but  a  poor  neighbor  to  you 
here,  —  a  very  poor  companion  am  I.  I  understand 
that  very  well,  but  that  need  not  prevent  my  writing  to 
you  now.  I  have  almost  never  written  letters  in  my  life, 
yet  I  think  I  can  write  as  good  ones  as  I  frequently  see, 
so  I  shall  not  hesitate  to  write  this,  such  as  it  may  be, 
knowing  that  you  will  welcome  anything'that  reminds  you 
of  Concord. 

I  have  banked  up  the  young  trees  against  the  winter  and 
the  mice,  and  I  will  look  out,  in  my  careless  way,  to  see  when 
a  pale  is  loose  or  a  nail  drops  out  of  its  place.  The  broad 
gaps,  at  least,  I  will  occupy.  I  heartily  wish  I  could  be  of 
good  service  to  this  household.  But  I,  who  have  only  used 
these  ten  digits  so  long  to  solve  the  problem  of  a  living, 
how  can  I  ?  The  world  is  a  cow  that  is  hard  to  milk,  —  life 
does  not  come  so  easy,  —  and  oh,  how  thinly  it  is  watered 
ere  we  get  it !  But  the  young  bunting  calf,  he  will  get  at 
it.  There  is  no  way  so  direct.  This  is  to  earn  one's  living 
by  the  sweat  of  his  brow.  It  is  a  little  like  joining  a  com 
munity,  this  life,  to  such  a  hermit  as  I  am ;  and  as  I  don't 
keep  the  accounts,  I  don't  know  whether  the  experiment  will 
succeed  or  fail  finally.  At  any  rate,  it  is  good  for  society,  so 
I  do  not  regret  my  transient  nor  my  permanent  share  in  it. 

Lidian  [Mrs.  Emerson]  and  I  make  very  good  house 
keepers.  She  is  a  very  dear  sister  to  me.  Ellen  and  Edith 
and  Eddy  and  Aunty  Brown  keep  up  the  tragedy  and 
comedy  and  tragic-comedy  of  life  as  usual.  The  two 
former  have  not  forgotten  their  old  acquaintance ;  even 
Edith  carries  a  young  memory  in  her  head,  I  find.  Eddy 
26 


Alcott's  Arbor 

can  teach  us  all  how  to  pronounce.  If  you  should  discover 
any  rare  hoard  of  wooden  or  pewter  horses,  I  have  no  doubt 
he  will  know  how  to  appreciate  it.  He  occasionally  surveys 
mankind  from  my  shoulders  as  wisely  as  ever  Johnson  did. 
I  respect  him  not  a  little,  though  it  is  I  that  lift  him  up  so 
unceremoniously.  .  .  . 

Alcott  has  heard  that  I  laughed,  and  so  set  the  people 
laughing,  at  his  arbor,  though  I  never  laughed  louder  than 
when  I  was  on  the  ridge-pole.  But  now  I  have  not  laughed 
for  a  long  time,  it  is  so  serious.  He  is  very  grave  to  look 
at.  But,  not  knowing  all  this,  I  strove  innocently  enough, 
the  other  day,  to  engage  his  attention  to  my  mathematics. 
"  Did  you  ever  study  geometry,  the  relation  of  straight  lines 
to  curves,  the  transition  from  the  finite  to  the  infinite  ?  Fine 
things  about  it  in  Newton  and  Leibnitz."  But  he  would 
hear  none  of  it,  —  men  of  taste  preferred  the  natural  curve. 
Ah,  he  is  a  crooked  stick  himself.  ...  As  for  the  building, 
I  feel  a  little  oppressed  when  I  come  near  it.  It  has  no 
great  disposition  to  be  beautiful ;  it  is  certainly  a  wonderful 
structure,  on  the  whole,  and  the  fame  of  the  architect  will 
endure  as  long  as  it  shall  stand.  .  .  . 

...  It  is  true  enough,  Cambridge  College  is  really  be 
ginning  to  wake  up  and  redeem  its  character  and  overtake 
the  age.  I  see  by  the  catalogue  that  they  are  about  estab 
lishing  a  scientific  school  in  connection  with  the  university, 
at  which  any  one  above  eighteen,  on  paying  one  hundred 
dollars  annually  (Mr.  Lawrence's  fifty  thousand  dollars  will 
probably  diminish  this  sum),  may  be  instructed  in  the  high 
est  branches  of  science,  —  in  astronomy,  "  theoretical  and 
practical,  with  the  use  of  the  instruments  "  (so  the  great 
Yankee  astronomer  may  be  born  without  delay),  in  me 
chanics  and  engineering  to  the  last  degree.  Agassiz  will 
ere  long  commence  his  lectures  in  the  zoological  depart 
ment.  A  chemistry  class  has  already  been  formed  under  the 
27 


The  Friendly  Craft 

direction  of  Professor  Horsford.  A  new  and  adequate  build 
ing  for  the  purpose  is  already  being  erected.  They  have 
been  foolish  enough  to  put  at  the  end  of  all  this  earnest  the 
old  joke  of  a  diploma.  Let  every  sheep  keep  but  his  own 
skin,  I  say. 

I  have  had  a  tragic  correspondence,  for  the  most  part  all 

on  one  side,  with  Miss .     She  did  really  wish  to  — 

I  hesitate  to  write  —  marry  me.  That  is  the  way  they  spell 
it.  Of  course  I  did  not  write  a  deliberate  answer.  How 
could  I  deliberate  upon  it  ?  I  sent  back  as  distinct  a  no  as 
I  have  learned  to  pronounce  after  considerable  practice,  and 
I  trust  that  this  no  has  succeeded.  Indeed,  I  wished  that 
it  might  burst,  like  hollow  shot,  after  it  had  struck  and 
buried  itself  and  made  itself  felt  there.  There  was  no 
other  way.  I  really  had  anticipated  no  such  foe  as  this 
in  my  career. 

I  suppose  you  will  like  to  hear  of  my  book,  though  I 
have  nothing  worth  writing  about  it.  Indeed,  for  the  last 
month  or  two  I  have  forgotten  it,  but  shall  certainly  re 
member  it  again.  Wiley  &  Putnam,  Munroe,  the  Harpers, 
and  Crosby  &  Nichols  have  all  declined  printing  it  with 
the  least  risk  to  themselves  ;  but  Wiley  &  Putnam  will 
print  it  in  their  series,  and  any  of  them  anywhere,  at  my 
risk.  If  I  liked  the  book  well  enough,  I  should  not  delay  ; 
but  for  the  present  I  am  indifferent.  I  believe  this  is,  after 
all,  the  course  you  advised,  — to  let  it  lie. 

I  do  not  know  what  to  say  of  myself.  I  sit  before  my 
green  desk,  in  the  chamber  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and 
attend  to  my  thinking,  sometimes  more,  sometimes  less 
distinctly.  I  am  not  unwilling  to  think  great  thoughts  if 
there  are  any  in  the  wind,  but  what  they  are  I  am  not  sure. 
They  suffice  to  keep  me  awake  while  the  day  lasts,  at  any 
rate.  Perhaps  they  will  redeem  some  portion  of  the  night 
ere  long. 

28 


Concord  Politics 

I  can  imagine  you  astonishing,  bewildering,  confound 
ing,  and  sometimes  delighting  John  Bull  with  your  Yankee 
notions,  and  that  he  begins  to  take  a  pride  in  the  relation 
ship  at  last ;  introduced  to  all  the  stars  of  England  in  suc 
cession,  after  the  lecture,  until  you  pine  to  thrust  your  head 
once  more  into  a  genuine  and  unquestionable  nebular,  if 
there  be  any  left.  .  .  . 

Hugh  [the  gardener]  still  has  his  eye  on  the  Walden 
agellum,  and  orchards  are  waving  there  in  the  windy 
future  for  him.  That's  the  where-I'll-go-next,  thinks  he ; 
but  no  important  steps  are  yet  taken.  .  .  .  Unfortunately, 
the  day  after  cattle-show  —  the  day  after  small  beer  —  he 
was  among  the  missing,  but  not  long  this  time.  The 
Ethiopian  cannot  change  his  skin  nor  the  leopard  his 
spots,  nor  indeed  Hugh  —  his  Hugh.  .  .  . 

They  have  been  choosing  between  John  Keyes  and  Sam 
Staples,  if  the  world  wants  to  know  it,  as  representative  of 
this  town,  and  Staples  is  chosen.  The  candidates  for 
governor  —  think  of  my  writing  this  to  you !  —  were  Gov 
ernor  Briggs  and  General  Gushing,  and  Briggs  is  elected, 
though  the  Democrats  have  gained.  Ain't  I  a  brave  boy  to 
know  so  much  of  politics  for  the  nonce?  But  I  shouldn't 
have  known  it  if  Coombs  hadn't  told  me.  They  have  had 
a  peace  meeting  here,  —  I  shouldn't  think  of  telling  you  if 
I  didn't  know  anything  would  do  for  the  English  market, 
—  and  some  men,  Deacon  Brown  at  the  head,  have  signed 
a  long  pledge,  swearing  that  they  will  "  treat  all  mankind 
as  brothers  henceforth."  I  think  I  shall  wait  and  see  how 
they  treat  me  first.  I  think  that  Nature  meant  kindly 
when  she  made  our  brothers  few.  However,  my  voice  is 
still  for  peace.  So  good-by,  and  a  truce  to  all  joking,  my 
dear  friend,  from 

H.  D.  T. 


29 


The  Friendly  Craft 

James    Russell    Lowell    considers    Cambridge    doings 
quite  as  interesting  as  those  of  Italy         x^y      <^x 

(To  William  Wetmore  Story) 

ELMWOOD,  March  loth,  1848 

MY  DEAR  WILLIAM,  —  I  begin  with  a  cheerful  con 
fidence  as  near  the  top  of  the  page  as  I  can,  trust 
ing  that  Providence  will  somehow  lead  me  through  my 
three  pages  to  a  triumphant  "yours  truly"  at  the  end. 
Emelyn  writes  in  good  spirits,  but  I  cannot  help  suspect 
ing  a  flaw  somewhere.  There  must  be  not  a  little  of  the 
desolate  island  where  S.  M.  F.  is  considered  agreeable. 
It  is  hardly  possible  that  pure  happiness  should  exist  so 
far  from  Cambridge.  One  needs  not  to  go  as  far  as  Rome 
to  find  an  attic,  nor  should  I  prefer  an  Italian  clime  to  an 
American  one.  As  for  ruins,  you  have  there,  to  be  sure, 
plenty  of  them,  the  work  of  ...  Goths  and  other  people 
with  whom  you  have  nothing  whatever  to  do.  But  here 
we  have  an  excellent  ruin  on  Mount  Benedict  which  we 
made  ourselves.  And,  if  you  mention  political  changes, 
Italy  has  been  getting  herself  born  again  ever  since  I  can 
remember,  and  will  have  to  be  delivered  by  a  Caesarian 
operation  after  all.  Besides,  have  not  we  ours  ?  It  is  not 
a  week  since  Sidney  Willard  was  elected  to  our  Canta 
brigian  Mayors  nest  in  place  of  James  D.  Green.  Mr.  B. 
has  been  dismissed  from  the  office  as  field-driver.  We 
have  two  watchmen,  who,  I  have  no  doubt,  could  put  to 
flight  the  Pope's  whole  civic  guard.  Deacon  Brown  has 
retired  from  business.  Will  not  all  these  things  be  as 
important  to  the  interests  of  mankind  a  hundred  years 
hence  as  that  Noodle  VI.  sits  on  the  throne  of  the  two 
Sicilies  or  Loafer  XXI.  in  the  grand-ducal  chair  of 
Florence?  If  you  have  your  Pio  Nonos,  we  can  also 
30 


Thermometrical  Satisfactions 

boast  our  Tommy  Nonose  also,  whom  I  meet  every  time 
I  go  to  the  Athenaeum. 

Emelyn  talks  of  roses  in  blossom.  For  my  part  I  think 
them  no  better  out  of  season  than  green  peas.  I  could 
never  enter  fully  into  these  thermometrical  and  meteoro 
logical  satisfactions.  Have  you  had  three  weeks'  sleigh 
ing  ?  Have  you  had  the  thermometer  at  14  below  zero  ? 
Have  you  stored  twenty  thousand  tons  of  ice?  I  presume 
you  have  not  even  so  much  as  an  ice-sickle  to  reap  such  a 
crop  with.  But  I  will  not  triumph,  seeing  that  these  are 
things  in  which  I  had  no  hand,  and  it  is  not  your  fault  that 
you  have  no  winter.  We  are  not  without  our  roses  either, 
and  the  growth  of  the  open  air  too.  You  should  see  them 
in  Maria's  cheeks  —  roses  without  a  thorn,  as  St.  Basil 
supposes  them  to  have  been  in  Eden.  ...  I  confess  I 
never  had  any  great  opinion  of  the  ancient  Romans. 
They  stole  everything.  They  stole  the  land  they  built 
the  Eternal  City  on,  to  begin  with.  Then  they  stole  their 
wives,  then  their  religion,  then  their  art.  They  never  in 
vented  more  than  one  god  of  any  consequence,  as  far  as  I 
know,  and  he  was  a  two-faced  one,  an  emblem  of  the 
treacherous  disposition  of  the  people.  Niebuhr  has 
proved  that  they  made  up  the  only  parts  of  their  history 
that  are  creditable  to  them.  .  .  . 

To-day,  J.  Q.  Adams's  body  is  received  in  Boston  with 
great  pomp.  I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  send  you  a  pro 
gramme  of  the  procession,  that  you  might  show  the 
Romans  we  can  do  a  thing  or  two.  The  "  Eastern  mag 
nificence  "  of  the  theatres  is  nothing  to  it.  The  corpse 
will  be  followed  by  one  consistent  politician  (if  he  can  be 
found)  as  chief  mourner.  The  procession  will  consist 
wholly  of  what  the  newspapers  call  "unmingled"  patriots, 
and  will  of  course  be  very  large.  I  have  sent  in  a  bale  of 
moral  pocket  handkerchiefs  for  the  mourners  and  for  wads 
31 


The  Friendly  Craft 

to  the  cannon.  The  anti-slavery  feeling  of  New  England 
will  bring  up  the  rear  of  the  cortege  in  a  single  carriage. 
There  will  be  present  on  the  occasion  forty  last  survivors 
of  the  Boston  Tea-party,  and  fifty  thousand  who  were  in 
the  battle  of  Bunker's  Hill.  But  it  occurs  to  me  that  there 
may  possibly  be  some  kind  of  humbug  in  Rome  also ;  so 
I  will  leave  this  part  of  my  discourse  and  ask  you  what  you 
do  for  cigars?  I  know  that  the  Virginian  nepenthe  is  so 
much  esteemed  there  that  one  of  the  popular  oaths  is  "  per 
Bacco  ! "  but  it  does  not  follow  that  the  plant  is  any  better 
for  being  deified.  I  know  that  Vesuvius  smokes,  but  do 
the  people  generally  ?  .  .  . 

Three  letters  from  Louisa  Alcott  about  the  real  Little 
Women  *^y     ^Qy     ^>     ^^x     ^>     ^^     *Q>     ^> 

I 

(To  Anna  Alcott) 
[BOSTON,]  Thursday,  2;th,  [1853  or  1854?] 

DEAREST  NAN,— I  was  so  glad  to  hear  from  you, 
and  hear  that  all  were  well. 

I  am  grubbing  away  as  usual,  trying  to  get  money  enough 
to  buy  Mother  a  nice  warm  shawl.  I  have  eleven  dollars, 
all  my  own  earnings,  —  five  for  a  story,  and  four  for  the 
pile  of  sewing  I  did  for  the  ladies  of  Dr.  Gray's  society,  to 
give  him  as  a  present. 

...  I  got  a  crimson  ribbon  for  a  bonnet  for  May,  and 
I  took  my  straw  and  fixed  it  nicely  with  some  little  duds 
I  had.  Her  old  one  has  haunted  me  all  winter,  and  I  want 
her  to  look  neat.  She  is  so  graceful  and  pretty  and  loves 
beauty  so  much,  it  is  hard  for  her  to  be  poor  and  wear  other 
people's  ugly  things.  You  and  I  have  learned  not  to  mind 
much  ;  but  when  I  think  of  her  I  long  to  dash  out  and  buy 
the  finest  hat  the  limited  sum  of  ten  dollars  can  procure. 
32 


Rag-Bag  Rarities 

She  says  so  sweetly  in  one  of  her  letters :  "  It  is  hard 
sometimes  to  see  other  people  have  so  many  nice  things 
and  I  so  few;  but  I  try  not  "to  be  envious,  but  contented 
with  my  poor  clothes,  and  cheerful  about  it."  I  hope  the 
little  dear  will  like  the  bonnet  and  the  frills  I  made  her  and 
some  bows  I  fixed  over  from  bright  ribbons  L.  W.  threw 
away.  I  get  half  my  rarities  from  her  rag-bag,  and  she 
doesn't  know  her  own  rags  when  fixed  over.  I  hope  I  shall 
live  to  see  the  dear  child  in  silk  and  lace,  with  plenty  of  pic 
tures  and  "  bottles  of  cream,'1  Europe,  and  all  she  longs  for. 

For  our  good  little  Betty,  who  is  wearing  all  the  old 
gowns  we  left,  I  shall  soon  be  able  to  buy  a  new  one,  and 
send  it  with  my  blessing  to  the  cheerful  saint.  She  writes 
me  the  funniest  notes,  and  tries  to  keep  the  old  folks 
warm  and  make  the  lonely  house  in  the  snowbanks  cosey 
and  bright. 

To  Father  I  shall  send  new  neckties  and  some  paper  ;  then 
he  will  be  happy,  and  can  keep  on  with  the  beloved  diaries 
though  the  heavens  fall. 

Don't  laugh  at  my  plans  ;  I'll  carry  them  out,  if  I  go  to 
service  to  do  it.  Seeing  so  much  money  flying  about,  I 
long  to  honestly  get  a  little  and  make  my  dear  family  more 
comfortable.  I  feel  weak-minded  when  I  think  of  all  they 
need  and  the  little  I  can  do. 

Now  about  you  :  Keep  the  money  you  have  earned  by 
so  many  tears  and  sacrifices,  and  clothe  yourself;  for  it 
makes  me  mad  to  know  that  my  good  little  lass  is  going 
around  in  shabby  things,  and  being  looked  down  upon  by 
people  who  are  not  worthy  to  touch  her  patched  shoes  or 
the  hem  of  her  ragged  old  gowns.  Make  yourself  tidy,  and 
if  any  is  left  over  send  it  to  Mother;  for  there  are  always 
many  things  needed  at  home,  though  they  won't  tell  us. 
I  only  wish  I  too  by  any  amount  of  weeping  and  homesick 
ness  could  earn  as  much.  But  my  mite  won't  come  amiss  ; 

D  33 


The  Friendly  Craft 

and  if  tears  can  add  to  its  value,  I've  shed  my  quart,  — 
first,  over  the  book  not  coming  out ;  for  that  was  a  sad 
blow,  and  I  waited  so  long  it  was  dreadful  when  my  castle 
in.  the  air  came  tumbling  about  my  ears.  Pride  made  me 
laugh  in  public ;  but  I  wailed  in  private,  and  no  one  knew 
it.  The  folks  at  home  think  I  rather  enjoyed  it,  for  I  wrote 
a  jolly  letter.  But  my  visit  was  spoiled  ;  and  now  I'm 
digging  away  for  dear  life,  that  I  may  not  have  come 
entirely  in  vain.  I  didn't  mean  to  groan  about  it ;  but  my 
lass  and  I  must  tell  some  one  our  trials,  and  so  it  becomes 
easy  to  confide  in  one  another.  I  never  let  Mother  know 
how  unhappy  you  were  in  S.  till  Uncle  wrote. 

My  doings  are  not  much  this  week.  I  sent  a  little  tale 
to  the  "Gazette,"  and  Clapp  asked  H.  W.  if  five  dollars 
would  be  enough.  Cousin  H.  said  yes,  and  gave  it  to  me, 
with  kind  words  and  a  nice  parcel  of  paper,  saying  in  his 
funny  way,  "  Now,  Lu,  the  door  is  open,  go  in  and  win." 
So  I  shall  try  to  do  it.  Then  cousin  L.  W.  said  Mr.  B. 
had  got  my  play,  and  told  her  that  if  Mrs.  B.  liked  it  as 
well,  it  must  be  clever,  and  if  it  didn't  cost  too  much,  he 
would  bring  it  out  by  and  by.  Say  nothing  about  it  yet. 
Dr.  W.  tells  me  Mr.  F.  is  very  sick  ;  so  the  farce  cannot  be 
acted  yet.  But  the  Doctor  is  set  on  its  coming  out,  and 
we  have  fun  about  it.  H.  W.  takes  me  often  to  the  theatre 
when  L.  is  done  with  me.  I  read  to  her  all  the  P.M.  often, 
as  she  is  poorly,  and  in  that  way  I  pay  my  debt  to  them. 

Pm  writing  another  story  for  Clapp.  I  want  more  fives, 
and  mean  to  have  them  too. 

Uncle  wrote  that  you  were  Dr.  W.'s  pet  teacher,  and 
every  one  loved  you  dearly.  But  if  you  are  not  well,  don't 
stay.  Come  home,  and  be  cuddled  by  your  old 

Lu 


34 


Married  and  Gone 

II 

(To  Anna  Alcott  Pratt,  immediately  after  her  marriage) 

Sunday  Morn,  1860 

MRS.  PRATT: 
MY  DEAR  MADAM,  —  The  news  of  the  town  is  as 
follows,  and  I  present  it  in  the  'usual  journalesque  style  of 
correspondence.  After  the  bridal  train  had  departed,  the 
mourners  withdrew  to  their  respective  homes ;  and  the 
bereaved  family  solaced  their  woe  by  washing  dishes  for 
two  hours  and  bolting  the  remains  of  the  funeral  baked 
meats.  At  four,  having  got  settled  down,  we  were  all 
routed  up  by  the  appearance  of  a  long  procession  of  chil 
dren  filing  down  our  lane,  headed  by  the  Misses  H.  and  R. 
Father  rushed  into  the  cellar,  and  appeared  with  a  large 
basket  of  apples,  which  went  the  rounds  with  much  effect. 
The  light  infantry  formed  in  a  semi-circle,  and  was  watered 
by  the  matron  and  the  maids.  It  was  really  a  pretty  sight, 
these  seventy  children  loaded  with  wreaths  and  flowers, 
standing  under  the  elm  in  the  sunshine,  singing  in  full 
chorus  the  song  I  wrote  for  them.  It  was  a  neat  little 
compliment  to  the  superintendent  and  his  daughter  who 
was  glad  to  find  that  her  "  pome  "  was  a  favorite  among 
the  "  lads  and  lasses  "  who  sang  it  "  with  cheery  voices, 
like  robins  on  the  tree." 

Father  put  the  finishing  stroke  to  the  spectacle  by  going 
off  at  full  speed,  hoppity-skip,  and  all  the  babes  followed  in 
a  whirl  of  rapture  at  the  idea.  He  led  them  up  and  down 
and  round  and  round  till  they  were  tired ;  then  they  fell 
into  order,  and  with  a  farewell  song  marched  away,  seventy 
of  the  happiest  little  ones  I  ever  wish  to  see.  We  subsided, 
and  fell  into  our  beds  with  the  new  thought  "Annie  is 
married  and  gone"  for  a  lullaby,  which  was  not  very  effec 
tive  in  its  results  with  all  parties. 
35 


The  Friendly  Craft 

• 

Thursday  we  set  our  house  in  order,  and  at  two  the  rush 
began.  It  had  gone  abroad  that  Mr.  M.  and  Mrs.  Captain 
Brown  were  to  adorn  the  scene,  so  many  people  coolly 
came  who  were  not  invited,  and  who  had  no  business  here. 
People  sewed  and  jabbered  till  Mrs.  Brown,  with  Watson 
Brown's  widow  and  baby  came ;  then  a  levee  took  place. 
The  two  pale  women  sat  silent  and  serene  through  the 
clatter;  and  the  bright-eyed,  handsome  baby  received  the 
homage  of  the  multitude  like  a  little  king,  bearing  the  kisses 
and  the  praises  with  the  utmost  dignity.  He  is  named 
Frederick  Watson  Brown,  after  his  murdered  uncle  and 
father,  and  is  a  fair,  heroic-looking  baby,  with  a  fine  head, 
and  serious  eyes  that  look  about  him  as  if  saying,  "I  am 
a  Brown  !  Are  these  friends  or  enemies  ?  "  I  wanted  to 
cry  once  at  the  little  scene  the  unconscious  baby  made. 
Some  one  caught  and  kissed  him  rudely ;  he  didn't  cry, 
but  looked  troubled,  and  rolled  his  great  eyes  anxiously 
about  for  some  familiar  face  to  reassure  him  with  its  smile. 
His  mother  was  not  there ;  but  though  many  hands  were 
stretched  to  him,  he  turned  to  Grandma  Bridge,  and  put 
ting  out  his  little  arms  to  her  as  if  she  was  a  refuge, 
laughed  and  crowed  as  he  had  not  done  before  when  she 
danced  him  on  her  knee.  The  old  lady  looked  delighted  ; 
and  Freddy  patted  the  kind  face,  and  cooed  like  a  lawful 
descendant  of  that  pair  of  ancient  turtle  doves. 

When  he  was  safe  back  in  the  study,  playing  alone  at 
his  mother's  feet,  C.  and  I  went  and  worshipped  in  our 
own  way  at  the  shrine  of  John  Brown's  grandson,  kissing 
him  as  if  he  were  a  little  saint,  and  feeling  highly  honored 
when  he  sucked  our  fingers,  or  walked  on  us  with  his 
honest  little  red  shoes,  much  the  worse  for  wear. 

Well,  the  baby  fascinated  me  so  that  I  forgot  a  raging 
headache  and  forty  gabbling  women  all  in  full  clack. 
Mrs.  Brown,  Sen.,  is  a  tall,  stout  woman,  plain,  but  with  a 
36 


A  Tea  Fight 

strong,  good  face,  and  a  natural  dignity  that  showed  she 
was  something  better  than  a  "  lady,11  though  she  did  drink 
out  of  her  saucer  and  use  the  plainest  speech. 

The  younger  woman  had  such  a  patient,  heart-broken 
face,  it  was  a  whole  Harper's  Ferry  tragedy  in  a  look. 
When  we  got  your  letter,  Mother  and  I  ran  into  the  study 
to  read  it.  Mother  read  aloud ;  for  there  were  only  C., 
A.,  I,  and  Mrs.  Brown,  Jr.,  in  the  room.  As  she  read  the 
words  that  were  a  poem  in  their  simplicity  and  happiness, 
the  poor  young  widow  sat  with  tears  rolling  down  her  face  ; 
for  I  suppose  it  brought  back  her  own  wedding-day,  not 
two  years  ago,  and  all  the  while  she  cried  the  baby  laughed 
and  crowed  at  her  feet  as  if  there  was  no  trouble  in  the 
world. 

The  preparations  had  been  made  for  twenty  at  the 
utmost ;  so  when  forty  souls  with  the  usual  complement  of 
bodies  appeared,  we  grew  desperate,  and  our  neat  little 
supper  turned  out  a  regular  "  tea  fight.1'  A.,  C.,  B.,  and  I 
rushed  like  comets  to  and  fro  trying  to  fill  the  multitude 
that  would  eat  fast  and  drink  like  sponges.  1  filled  a  big 
plate  with  all  I  could  lay  hands  on,  and  with  two  cups  of 
tea,  strong  enough  for  a  dozen,  charged  upon  Mr.  E.  and 
Uncle  S.,  telling  them  to  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry,  for  a 
famine  was  at  hand.  They  cuddled  into  a  corner ;  and 
then,  feeling  that  my  mission  was  accomplished,  I  let  the 
hungry  wait  and  the  thirsty  moan  for  tea,  while  I  picked 
out  and  helped  the  regular  Anti-slavery  set. 

We  got  through  it ;  but  it  was  an  awful  hour ;  and 
Mother  wandered  in  her  mind,  utterly  lost  in  a  grove  of 
teapots ;  while  B.  pervaded  the  neighborhood  demanding 
hot  water,  and  we  girls  sowed  cake  broadcast  through  the 
land. 

When  the  plates  were  empty  and  the  teapots  dry,  people 
wiped  their  mouths  and  confessed  at  last  that  they  had 
37 


The  Friendly  Craft 

done.  A  conversation  followed,  in  which  Grandpa  B.  and 
E.  P.  P.  held  forth,  and  Uncle  and  Father  mildly  upset  the 
world,  and  made  a  new  one  in  which  every  one  desired  to 
take  a  place.  Dr.  B.,  Mr.  B.,  T.,  etc.,  appeared,  and  the 
rattle  continued  till  nine,  when  some  Solomon  suggested 
that  the  Alcotts  must  be  tired,  and  every  one  departed  but 
C.  and  S.  We  had  a  polka  by  Mother  and  Uncle,  the 
lancers  by  C.  and  B.,  and  an  etude  by  S.,  after  which 
scrabblings  of  feast  appeared,  and  we  "drained  the  dregs 
of  every  cup,''  all  cakes  and  pies  we  gobbled  up,  etc.  ; 
then  peace  fell  upon  us,  and  our  remains  were  interred 
decently.  .  .  . 

Ill 

(To  Mrs.  Pratt) 

MY  LASS,  —  This  must  be  a  frivolous  and  dressy  letter, 
because  you  always  want  to  know  about  our  clothes, 
and  we  have  been  at  it  lately.  May's  bonnet  is  a  sight 
for  gods  and  men.  Black  and  white  outside,  with  a  great 
cockade  boiling  over  the  front  to  meet  a  red  ditto  surging 
from  the  interior,  where  a  red  rainbow  darts  across  the 
brow,  and  a  surf  of  white  lace  foams  up  on  each  side.  I 
expect  to  hear  that  you  and  John  fell  flat  in  the  dust  with 
horror  on  beholding  it. 

My  bonnet  has  nearly  been  the  death  of  me ;  for,  think 
ing  some  angel  might  make  it  possible  for  me  to  go  to  the 
mountains,  I  felt  a  wish  for  a  tidy  hat,  after  wearing  an  old 
one  till  it  fell  in  tatters  from  my  brow.  Mrs.  P.  promised 
a  bit  of  gray  silk,  and  I  built  on  that ;  but  when  I  went  for 
it  I  found  my  hat  was  founded  on  sand ;  for  she  let  me 
down  with  a  crash,  saying  she  wanted  the  silk  herself,  and 
kindly  offering  me  a  flannel  petticoat  instead.  I  was  in 
woe  for  a  spell,  having  one  dollar  in  the  world,  and  scorn- 
38 


Jo's  Bonnet 

ing  debt  even  for  that  prop  of  life,  a  "  bonnet.1'  Then  I 
roused  myself,  flew  to  Dodge,  demanded  her  cheapest  bon 
net,  found  one  for  a  dollar,  took  it,  and  went  home  wonder 
ing  if  the  sky  would  open  and  drop  me  a  trimming.  I  am 
simple  in  my  tastes,  but  a  naked  straw  bonnet  is  a  little  too 
severely  chaste  even  for  me.  Sky  did  not  open  ;  so  I  went 
to  the  "  Widow  Cruise's  oil  bottle"  —  my  ribbon  box  — 
which,  by  the  way,  is  the  eighth  wonder  of  the  world,  for 
nothing  is  ever  put  in  it,  yet  I  always  find  some  old  dud 
when  all  other  hopes  fail.  From  this  salvation  bin  I  ex 
tracted  the  remains  of  the  old  white  ribbon  (used  up,  as  I 
thought,  two  years  ago),  and  the  bits  of  black  lace  that 
have  adorned  a  long  line  of  departed  hats.  Of  the  lace  I 
made  a  dish,  on  which  I  thriftily  served  up  bows  of  rib 
bon,  like  meat  on  toast.  Inside  put  the  lace  bow,  which 
adorns  my  form  anywhere  when  needed.  A  white  flower 
A.H.  gave  me  sat  airily  on  the  brim,  —  fearfully  unbecoming, 
but  pretty  in  itself,  and  in  keeping.  Strings  are  yet  to  be 
evolved  from  chaos.  I  feel  that  they  await  me  somewhere 
in  the  dim  future.  Green  ones  pro  tern,  hold  this  wonder 
of  the  age  on  my  gifted  brow,  and  I  survey  my  hat  with  re 
spectful  awe.  I  trust  you  will  also,  and  see  in  it  another 
great  example  of  the  power  of  mind  over  matter,  and  the 
convenience  of  a  colossal  brain  in  the  primeval  wrestle  with 
the  unruly  atoms  which  have  harassed  the  feminine  soul 
ever  since  Eve  clapped  on  a  modest  fig-leaf  and  did  up 
her  hair  with  a  thorn  for  a  hair  pin. 

I  feel  very  moral  to-day,  having  done  a  big  wash  alone, 
baked,  swept  the  house,  picked  the  hops,  got  dinner,  and 
written  a  chapter  in  "Moods."  May  gets  exhausted  with 
work,  though  she  walks  six  miles  without  a  murmur. 

It  is  dreadfully  dull,  and  I  work  so  that  I  may  not 
"brood."  Nothing  stirring  but  the  wind;  nothing  to  see 
but  dust ;  no  one  comes  but  rose-bugs  ;  so  I  grub  and 
39 


The  Friendly  Craft 

scold  at  the  "  A."  because  it  takes  a  poor  fellow's  tales  and 
keeps  'em  years  without  paying  for  'em.  If  I  think  of  my 
woes  I  fall  into  a  vortex  of  debts,  dish  pans,  and  despond 
ency  awful  to  see.  So  I  say,  "every  path  has  its  puddle," 
and  try  to  play  gayly  with  the  tadpoles  in  my  puddle, 
while  I  wait  for  the  Lord  to  give  me  a  lift,  or  some  gallant 
Raleigh  to  spread  his  velvet  cloak  and  fetch  me  over  dry  shod. 

L.  W.  adds  to  my  woe  by  waiting  of  the  splendors  of 
Gorham,  and  says,  "  When  tired,  run  right  up  here  and 
find  rest  among  these  everlasting  hills."  All  very  aggra 
vating  to  a  young  woman  with  one  dollar,  no  bonnet,  half 
a  gown,  and  a  discontented  mind.  It's  a  mercy  the  moun 
tains  are  everlasting,  for  it  will  be  a  century  before  /get 
there.  Oh,  me,  such  is  life  ! 

Now  I've  done  my  Jeremiad,  and  I'll  go  on  twanging 
my  harp  in  the  "  willow  tree." 

You  ask  what  I  am  writing.  Well,  two  books  half  done, 
nine  stories  simmering,  and  stacks  of  fairy  stories  mould 
ing  on  the  shelf.  I  can't  do  much,  as  I  have  no  time  to 
get  into  a  real  good  vortex.  It  unfits  me  for  work,  worries 
Ma  to  see  me  look  pale,  eat  nothing,  and  ply  by  night. 
These  extinguishers  keep  genius  from  burning  as  I  could 
wish,  and  I  give  up  ever  hoping  to  do  anything  unless 
luck  turns  for  your 

Lu 

Mrs.  Stowe  suggests  tombstones  for  two  ^y     --^ 

(To  her  husband) 

January,  1847 

MY  DEAR  SOUL,  —  I  received  your  most  melancholy 
effusion,  and  I  am  sorry  to  find  it's  just  so.     I  en 
tirely  agree  and  sympathize.     Why  didn't  you  engage  the 
two  tombstones  —  one  for  you  and  one  for  me  ?  ... 
40 


Hurry,  Hurry,  Hurry 

But,  seriously,  my  dear  husband,  you  must  try  and  be 
patient,  for  this  cannot  last  forever.  Be  patient  and  bear 
it  like  the  toothache,  or  a  driving  rain,  or  anything  else 
that  you  cannot  escape.  To  see  things  as  through  a  glass 
darkly  is  your  infirmity,  you  know ;  but  the  Lord  will  yet 
deliver  you  from  this  trial.  I  know  how  to  pity  you,  for 
the  last  three  weeks  I  have  suffered  from  an  overwhelming 
mental  depression,  a  perfect  heartsickness.  All  I  wanted 
was  to  get  home  and  die.  Die  I  was  very  sure  I  should, 
at  any  rate,  but  I  suppose  I  was  never  less  prepared  to 
do  so.  ... 

Two  letters  showing  how  Mrs.  Stowe  kept  house  and 

wrote  books        ^>      ^^>      <^      ^>      -^      ^> 

I 
(To  Mrs.  George  Beecher) 

MY  DEAR  SISTER, —  Is  it  really  true  that  snow  is 
on  the  ground  and  Christmas  coming,  and  I  have  not 
written  unto  thee,  most  dear  sister?  No,  I  don't  believe 
it!  I  haven't  been  so  naughty  —  it's  all  a  mistake  —  yes, 
written  I  must  have  —  and  written  I  have,  too  —  in  the 
night-watches  as  I  lay  on  my  bed  —  such  beautiful  letters 
—  I  wish  you  had  only  received  them  ;  but  by  day  it  has 
been  hurry,  hurry,  hurry,  and  drive,  drive,  drive!  'or  else 
the  calm  of  a  sick-room,  ever  since  last  spring. 

I  put  off  writing  when  your  letter  first  came,  because  I 
meant  to  write  you  a  long  letter,  —  a  full  and  complete 
one;  and  so  days  slid  by,  —  and  became  weeks,  —  and  my 
little  Charley  came  .  .  .  etc.,  and  etc. !  !  !  Sarah,  when 
I  look  back,  I  wonder  at  myself,  not  that  I  forget  any  one 
thing  that  I  should  remember,  but  that  I  have  remembered 
anything.  From  the  time  that  I  left  Cincinnati  with  my 
children  to  come  forth  to  a  country  that  I  knew  not  of 
almost  to  the  present  time,  it  has  seemed  as  if  I  could 
41 


The  Friendly  Craft 

scarcely  breathe,  I  was  so  pressed  with  care.  My  head 
dizzy  with  the  whirl  of  railroads  and  steamboats  ;  then 
ten  days'  sojourn  in  Boston,  and  a  constant  toil  and  hurry 
in  buying  my  furniture  and  equipments ;  and  then  land 
ing  in  Brunswick  in  the  midst  of  a  drizzly,  inexorable 
northeast  storm,  and  beginning  the  work  of  getting  in 
order  a  deserted,  dreary,  damp  old  house.  All  day  long 
running  from  one  thing  to  another,  as,  for  example,  thus  :  — 

"  Mrs.  Stowe,  how  shall  I  make  this  lounge,  and  what 
shall  I  cover  the  back  with  first?" 

Mrs.  Stowe.     "  With  the  coarse  cotton  in  the  closet." 

Woman.  "  Mrs.  Stowe,  there  isn't  any  more  soap  to 
clean  the  windows." 

Mrs.  Stowe.     "  Where  shall  I  get  soap  ?" 

"  Here,  H.,  run  up  to  the  store  and  get  two  bars." 

"  There  is  a  man  below  wants  to  see  Mrs.  Stowe  about 
the  cistern.  Before  you  go  down,  Mrs.  Stowe,  just  show 
me  how  to  cover  this  round  end  of  the  lounge." 

"  There's  a  man  up  from  the  depot,  and  he  says  that  a 
box  has  come  for  Mrs.  Stowe,  and  it's  coming  up  to  the 
house  ;  will  you  come  down  and  see  about  it? " 

"  Mrs.  Stowe,  don't  go  till  you  have  shown  the  man  how 
to  nail  that  carpet  in  the  corner.  He's  nailed  it  all 
crooked  ;  what  shall  he  do?  The  black  thread  is  all  used 
up,  and  what  shall  I  do  about  putting  gimp  on  the  back 
of  that  sofa?  Mrs.  Stowe.  there  is  a  man  come  with  a  lot 
of  pails  and  tinware  from  Furbish  ;  will  you  settle  the  bill 
now  ? " 

u  Mrs.  Stowe,  here  is  a  letter  just  come  from  Boston  in 
closing  that  bill  of  lading  ;  the  man  wants  to  know  what  he 
shall  do  with  the  goods.  If  you  will  tell  me  what  to  say,  I 
will  answer  the  letter  for  you." 

"  Mrs.  Stowe,  the  meat-man  is  at  the  door.     Hadn't  we 
better  get  a  little  beefsteak,  or  something,  for  dinner?  " 
42 


Direful   Forebodings 


"  Shall  Hatty  go  to  Boardman's  for  some  more  black 
thread  ? " 

"Mrs.  Stowe,  this  cushion  is  an  inch  too  wide  for  the 
frame.  What  shall  we  do  now  ? " 

"Mrs.  Stowe,  where  are  the  screws  of  the  black  walnut 
bedstead  ? " 

"Here's  a  man  has  brought  in  these  bills  for  freight. 
Will  you  settle  them  now?" 

"Mrs.  Stowe,  I  don't  understand  using  this  great  needle. 
I  can't  make  it  go  through  the  cushion ;  it  sticks  in  the 
cotton." 

Then  comes  a  letter  from  my  husband,  saying  he  is  sick 
abed,  and  all  but  dead ;  don't  ever  expect  to  see  his  family 
again  ;  wants  to  know  how  I  shall  manage,  in  case  I  am  left 
a  widow ;  knows  we  shall  get  in  debt  and  never  get  out ; 
wonders  at  my  courage ;  thinks  I  am  very  sanguine ;  warns 
me  to  be  prudent,  as  there  won't  be  much  to  live  on  in  case 
of  his  death,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.  I  read  the  letter  and  poke  it 
into  the  stove,  and  proceed.  .  .  . 

Some  of  my  adventures  were  quite  funny  ;  as  for  example  : 
I  had  in  my  kitchen-elect  no  sink,  cistern,  or  any  other 
water  privileges,  so  I  bought  at  the  cotton  factory  two  of 
the  great  hogsheads  they  bring  oil  in,  which  here  in  Bruns 
wick  are  often  used  for  cisterns,  and  had  them  brought  up 
in  triumph  to  my  yard,  and  was  congratulating  myself  on  my 
energy,  when  lo  and  behold  !  it  was  discovered  that  there 
was  no  cellar  door  except  one  in  the  kitchen,  \vhich  was  truly 
a  strait  and  narrow  way,  down  a  long  pair  of  stairs.  Here 
upon,  as  saith  John  Bunyan,  I  fell  into  a  muse,  —  how  to 
get  my  cisterns  into  my  cellar.  In  days  of  chivalry  I  might 
have  got  a  knight  to  make  me  a  breach  through  the  founda 
tion  walls,  but  that  was  not  to  be  thought  of  now,  and  my 
oil  hogsheads,  standing  disconsolately  in  the  yard,  seemed 
to  reflect  no  great  credit  on  my  foresight.  In  this  strait  I 
43 


The  Friendly  Craft 

fell  upon  a  real  honest  Yankee  cooper,  whom  I  besought, 
for  the  reputation  of  his  craft  and  mine,  to  take  my 
hogsheads  to  pieces,  carry  them  down  in  staves,  and  set 
them  up  again,  which  the  worthy  man  actually  accomplished 
one  fair  summer  forenoon,  to  the  great  astonishment  of  "us 
Yankees.1'  When  my  man  came  to  put  up  the  pump,  he 
stared  very  hard  to  see  my  hogsheads  thus  translated  and 
standing  as  innocent  and  quiet  as  could  be  in  the  cellar, 
and  then  I  told  him,  in  a  very  mild,  quiet  way,  that  I  got 
'em  taken  to  pieces  and  put  together, — just  as  if  I  had  been 
always  in  the  habit  of  doing  such  things.  Professor  Smith 
came  down  and  looked  very  hard  at  them  and  then  said, 
"Well,  nothing  can  beat  a  willful  woman."  Then  followed 
divers  negotiations  with  a  very  clever,  but  (with  reverence) 
somewhat  lazy  gentleman  of  jobs,  who  occupieth  a  carpen 
ter's  shop  opposite  to  mine.  This  same  John  Titcomb,  my 
very  good  friend,  is  a  character  peculiar  to  Yankeedom. 
He  is  part  owner  and  landlord  of  the  house  I  rent,  and 
connected  by  birth  with  all  the  best  familes  in  town  ;  a  man 
of  real  intelligence,  and  good  education,  a  great  reader,  and 
quite  a  thinker.  Being  of  an  ingenious  turn,  he  does  paint 
ing,  gilding,  staining,  upholstery  jobs,  varnishing,  all  in 
addition  to  his  primary  trade  of  carpentry.  But  he  is  a 
man  studious  of  ease,  and  fully  possessed  with  the  idea  that 
man  wants  but  little  here  below  ;  so  he  boards  himself  in 
his  workshop  on  crackers  and  herring,  washed  down  with 
cold  water,  and  spends  his  time  working,  musing,  reading 
new  publications,  and  taking  his  comfort.  In  his  shop 
you  shall  see  a  joiner's  bench,  hammers,  planes,  saws, 
gimlets,  varnish,  paint,  picture  frames,  fence  posts,  rare 
old  china,  one  or  two  fine  portraits  of  his  ancestry,  a 
bookcase  full  of  books,  the  tooth  of  a  whale,  an  old  spin 
ning  wheel  and  spindle,  a  lady's  parasol  frame,  a  church 
lamp  to  be  mended,  in  short,  Henry  says  Mr.  Titcomb's 
44 


An   Odd-Job   Man 

shop  is  like  the  ocean ;  there  is  no  end  to  the  curiosities 
in  it. 

In  all  my  moving  and  fussing,  Mr.  Titcomb  has  been 
my  right-hand  man.  Whenever  a  screw  was  loose,  a  nail 
to  be  driven,  a  lock  mended,  a  pane  of  glass  set,  —  and 
these  cases  were  manifold  —  he  was  always  on  hand. 
But  my  sink  was  no  fancy  job,  and  I  believe  nothing  but 
a  very  particular  friendship  would  have  moved  him  to 
undertake  it.  So  this  same  sink  lingered  in  a  precarious 
state  for  some  weeks,  and  when  I  had  nothing  else  to  do,  I 
used  to  call  and  do  what  I  could  in  the  way  of  enlisting 
the  good  man's  sympathies  in  its  behalf. 

How  many  times  I  have  been  in  and  seated  myself  in 
one  of  the  old  rocking-chairs,  and  talked  first  of  the  news 
of  the  day,  the  railroad,  the  last  proceedings  in  Congress, 
the  probabilities  about  the  millennium,  and  thus  brought 
the  conversation  by  little  and  little  round  to  my  sink!  .  .  . 
because,  till  the  sink  was  done,  the  pump  could  not  be 
put  up,  and  we  couldn't  have  any  rain-water.  Sometimes 
my  courage  would  quite  fail  me  to  introduce  the  subject, 
and  I  would  talk  of  everything  else,  turn  and  get  out  of 
the  shop,  and  then  turn  back  as  if  a  thought  had  just 
struck  my  mind,  and  say  :  — 

"Oh,  Mr.  Titcomb!  about  that  sink?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  I  was  thinking  about  going  down  street 
this  afternoon  to  look  out  stuff  for  it." 

"  Yes,  sir,  if  you  would  be  good  enough  to  get  it  done 
as  soon  as  possible  ;  we  are  in  great  need  of  it." 

<4I  think  there's  no  hurry.  I  believe  we  are  going  to 
have  a  dry  time  now,  so  that  you  could  not  catch  any 
water,  and  you  won't  need  a  pump  at  present." 

These  negotiations  extended  from  the  first  of  June  to 
the  first  of  July,  and  at  last  my  sink  was  completed,  and 
so  also  was  a  new  house  spout,  concerning  which  I  had 
45 


The  Friendly  Craft 

had  divers  communings  with  Deacon  Dunning  of  the 
Baptist  church.  Also  during  this  time  good  Mrs.  Mitchell 
and  myself  made  two  sofas,  or  lounges,  a  barrel  chair, 
divers  bedspreads,  pillow  cases,  pillows,  bolsters,  mat 
tresses  ;  we  painted  rooms ;  we  revarnished  furniture ;  we 
—  what  didtft  we  do? 

Then  came  on  Mr.  Stowe ;  and  then  came  the  eighth 
of  July  and  my  little  Charley.  I  was  really  glad  for  an 
excuse  to  lie  in  bed,  for  I  was  full  tired,  I  can  assure  you. 
Well,  I  was  what  folks  call  very  comfortable  for  two  weeks 
when  my  nurse  had  to  leave  me.  .  .  . 

During  this  time  I  have  employed  my  leisure  hours  in 
making  up  my  engagements  with  newspaper  editors.  I 
have  written  more  than  anybody,  or  I  myself,  would  have 
thought.  I  have  taught  an  hour  a  day  in  our  school,  and 
I  have  read  two  hours  every  evening  to  the  children.  The 
children  study  English  history  in  school,  and  I  am  read 
ing  Scott's  historical  novels  in  their  order.  To-night  I 
finish  the  "  Abbot " ;  shall  begin  "  Kenilworth  "  next 
week;  yet  I  am  constantly  pursued  and  haunted  by  the 
idea  that  I  don't  do  anything.  Since  I  began  this  note  I 
have  been  called  off  at  least  a  dozen  times ;  once  for  the 
fish-man  to  buy  a  codfish  ;  once  to  see  a  man  who  had 
brought  me  some  barrels  of  apples ;  once  to  see  a  book 
man  ;  then  to  Mrs.  Upham,  to  see  about  a  drawing  I 
promised  to  make  for  her ;  then  to  nurse  the  baby ;  then 
into  the  kitchen  to  make  a  chowder  for  dinner ;  and  now 
I  am  at  it  again,  for  nothing  but  deadly  determination 
enables  me  ever  to  write ;  it  is  rowing  against  wind  and 
tide. 

I  suppose  you  think  now  I  have  begun,  I  am  never 
going  to  stop,  and,  in  truth,  it  looks  like  it ;  but  the  spirit 
moves  now  and  I  must  obey. 

Christmas  is  coming,  and  our  little  household  is  all 
46 


A   Little  Bit  of  a  Woman 

alive  with  preparations ;  every  one   collecting  their  little 
gifts  with  wonderful  mystery  and  secrecy.   .   .   . 

To  tell  the  truth,  dear,  I  am  getting  tired ;  my  neck  and 
back  ache,  and  I  must  come  to  a  close. 

Your  ready  kindness  to  me  in  the  spring  I  felt  very 
much  ;  and  why  I  did  not  have  the  sense  to  have  sent  you 
one  line  just  by  way  of  acknowledgment,  Pm  sure  I  don't 
know ;  I  felt  just  as  if  I  had,  till  I  awoke,  and  behold !  I 
had  not.  But,  my  dear,  if  my  wits  are  somewhat  wool 
gathering  and  unsettled,  my  heart  is  as  true  as  a  star.  I  love 
you,  and  have  thought  of  you  often.  .  .  . 

Affectionately  yours, 

H.  STOWE 

II 

(To  Mrs.  Follen) 

ANDOVER,  February  16,  [1853] 

MY  DEAR  MADAM,  — I  hasten  to  reply  to  your 
letter,  to  me  the  more  interesting  that  I  have  kmg 
been  acquainted  with  you,  and  during  all  the  nursery  part 
of  my  life  made  daily  use  of  your  poems  for  children. 

I  used  to  think  sometimes  in  those  days  that  I  would 
write  to  you,  and  tell  you  how  much  I  was  obliged  to  you 
for  the  pleasure  which  they  gave  us  all. 

So  you  want  to  know  something  about  what  sort  of  a 
woman  I  am!  Well,  if  this  is  any  object,  you  shall  have 
statistics  free  of  charge.  To  begin,  then,  I  am  a  little  bit 
of  a  woman,  —  somewhat  more  than  forty,  about  as  thin 
and  dry  as  a  pinch  of  snuff;  never  very  much  to  look  at  in 
my  best  days,  and  looking  like  a  used-up  article  now. 

I  was  married  when  I  was  twenty-five  years  old  to  a  man 

rich  in  Greek  and  Hebrew,  Latin  and  Arabic,  and,  alas  ! 

rich  in  nothing  else.     When  I  went  to  housekeeping,  my 

entire  stock  of  china  for  parlor  and  kitchen  was  bought  for 

47 


The  Friendly  Craft 

eleven  dollars.  That  lasted  very  well  for  two  years,  till 
my  brother  was  married  and  brought  his  bride  to  visit  me. 
I  then  found,  on  review,  that  I  had  neither  plates  nor 
teacups  to  set  a  table  for  my  father's  family ;  wherefore  I 
thought  it  best  to  reinforce  the  establishment  by  getting 
me  a  tea-set  that  cost  ten  dollars  more,  and  this,  I  believe, 
formed  my  whole  stock  in  trade  for  some  years. 

But  then  I  was  abundantly  enriched  with  wealth  of 
another  sort. 

I  had  two  little  curly-headed  twin  daughters  to  begin 
with,  and  my  stock  in  this  line  has  gradually  increased, 
till  I  have  been  the  mother  of  seven  children,  the  most 
beautiful  and  the  most  loved  of  whom  lies  buried  near  my 
Cincinnati  residence.  It  was*  at  his  dying  bed  and  at  his 
grave  that  I  learned  what  a  poor  slave  mother  may  feel 
when  her  child  is  torn  away  from  her.  In  those  depths  of 
sorrow  which  seemed  to  me  immeasurable,  it  was  my  only 
prayer  to  God  that  such  anguish  might  not  be  suffered  in 
vain..  There  were  circumstances  about  his  death  of  such 
peculiar  bitterness,  of  what  seemed  almost  cruel  suffering, 
that  I  felt  that  I  could  never  be  consoled  for  it  unless  this 
crushing  of  my  own  heart  might  enable  me  to  work  out 
some  great  good  to  others.  .  .  . 

I  allude  to  this  here  because  I  have  often  felt  that  much 
that  is  in  that  book  ("  Uncle  Tom  ")  had  its  root  in  the 
awful  scenes  and  bitter  sorrows  of  that  summer.  It  has 
left  now,  I  trust,  no  trace  on  my  mind  except  a  deep  com 
passion  for  the  sorrowful,  especially  for  mothers  who  are 
separated  from  their  children. 

During  long  years  of  struggling  with  poverty  and  sick 
ness,  and  a  hot,  debilitating  climate,  my  children  grew  up 
around  me.  The  nursery  and  the  kitchen  were  my 
principal  fields  of  labor.  Some  of  my  friends,  pitying  my 
trials,  copied  and  sent  a  number  of  little  sketches  from  my 
48 


The  Philosopher's  Stone 

pen  to  certain  liberally  paying  lt  Annuals  "  with  my  name. 
With  the  first  money  that  I  earned  in  this  way  I  bought  a 
feather-bed  !  for  as  I  had  married  into  poverty  and  without 
a  dowry,  and  as  my  husband  had  only  a  large  library  of  books 
and  a  great  deal  of  learning,  the  bed  and  pillows  were 
thought  the  most  profitable  investment.  After  this  I  thought 
that  I  had  discovered  the  philosopher's  stone.  So  when  a 
new  carpet  or  mattress  was  going  to  be  needed,  or  when,  at 
the  close  of  the  year,  it  began  to  be  evident  that  my  family 
accounts,  like  poor  Dora's,  "  wouldn't  add  up,11  then  I  used 
to  say  to  my  faithful  friend  and  factotum  Anna,  who  shared 
all  my  joys  and  sorrows,  "  Now,  if  you  will  keep  the 
babies  and  attend  to  the  things  in  the  house  for  one  day, 
I'll  write  a  piece,  and  then  we  shall  be  out  of  the  scrape." 
So  I  became  an  author,  —  very  modest  at  first,  I  do 
assure  you,  and  remonstrating  very  seriously  with  the 
friends  who  had  thought  it  best  to  put  my  name  to  the 
pieces  by  way  of  getting  up  a  reputation.  .  .  .  One  thing 
I  must  say  with  regard  to  my  life  at  the  West,  which  you 
will  understand  better  than  many  English  women  could. 

I  lived  two  miles  from  the  city  of  Cincinnati,  in  the 
country,  and  domestic  service,  not  always  you  know  to  be 
found  in  the  city,  is  next  to  an  impossibility  to  obtain  in 
the  country,  even  by  those  who  are  willing  to  give  the 
highest  wages ;  so  what  was  to  be  expected  for  poor  me, 
who  had  very  little  of  this  world's  goods  to  offer  ? 

Had  it  not  been  for  my  inseparable  friend  Anna,  a 
noble-hearted  English  girl,  who  landed  on  our  shores  in 
destitution  and  sorrow,  and  clove  to  me  as  Ruth  to 
Naomi,  I  had  never  lived  through  all  the  trials  which  this 
uncertainty  and  want  of  domestic  service  imposed  on 
both ;  you  may  imagine,  therefore,  how  glad  I  was  when, 
our  seminary  property  being  divided  out  into  small  lots 
which  were  rented  at  a  low  price,  a  number  of  poor 
E  49 


The  Friendly  Craft 

families  settled  in  our  vicinity,  from  whom  we  could 
occasionally  obtain  domestic  service.  About  a  dozen 
families  of  liberated  slaves  were  among  the  number,  and 
they  became  my  favorite  resort  in  cases  of  emergency.  If 
anybody  wishes  to  have  a  black  face  look  handsome,  let 
them  be  left,  as  I  have  been,  in  feeble  health  in  oppressive 
hot  weather,  with  a  sick  baby  in  arms,  and  two  or  three 
other  little  ones  in  the  nursery,  and  not  a  servant  in  the 
whole  house  to  do  a  single  turn.  Then,  if  they  could  see 
my  good  old  Aunt  Frankie  coming  with  her  honest,  bluff, 
black  face,  her  long,  strong  arms,  her  chest  as  big  and 
stout  as  a  barrel,  and  her  hilarious,  hearty  laugh,  perfectly 
delighted  to  take  one's  washing  and  do  it  at  a  fair  price, 
they  would  appreciate  the  beauty  of  black  people.  ... 

I  am  now  writing  a  work  which  will  contain,  perhaps, 
an  equal  amount  of  matter  with  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin." 
It  will  contain  all  the  facts  and  documents  on  which  that 
story  was  founded,  and  an  immense  body  of  facts,  reports 
of  trials,  legal  documents,  and  testimony  of  people  now 
living  South,  which  will  more  than  confirm  every  state 
ment  in  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin."  .  .  . 

I  suffer  exquisitely  in  writing  these  things.  It  may  be 
truly  said  that  I  write  with  my  heart's  blood.  Many  times 
in  writing  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  "  I  thought  my  health 
would  fail  utterly ;  but  I  prayed  earnestly  that  God  would 
help  me  till  I  got  through,  and  still  I  am  pressed  beyond 
measure  and  above  strength. 

This  horror,  this  nightmare  abomination  !  can  it  be  in 
my  country  !  It  lies  like  lead  on  my  heart,  it  shadows 
my  life  with  sorrow ;  the  more  so  that  I  feel,  as  for  my 
own  brothers,  for  the  South,  and  am  pained  by  every  hor 
ror  I  am  obliged  to  write,  as  one  who  is  forced  by  some 
awful  oath  to  disclose  in  court  some  family  disgrace. 
Many  times  I  have  thought  that  I  must  die,  and  yet  I  pray 
50 


A  Nice  Little  Room 

God  that  I  may  live  to  see  something  done.     I  shall  in  all 
probability  be  in  London  in  May :  shall  1  see  you  ? 

It  seems  to  me  so  odd  and  dream-like  that  so  many 
persons  desire  to  see  me,  and  now  I  cannot  help  thinking 
that  they  will  think,  when  they  do,  that  God  hath  chosen 
"  the  weak  things  of  this  world." 

If  I  live  till  spring  I    shall  hope  to  see  Shakespeare's 
grave,  and  Milton's  mulberry-tree,  and  the  good  land  of 
my  fathers,  —  old,  old  England  !     May  that  day  come  ! 
Yours  affectionately, 

H.  B.  STOWE 


Prairie  life  in  the  'Forties   <^y    *^>    •<^>    ^>    "Qy    -*^y 
(Lucy  Larcom  to  Mrs.  Haskell) 

LOOKING-GLASS  PRAIRIE,  May  19,  1846 

DEAR  SISTER  ABBY,  — I  think  it  is  your  turn  to 
have  a  letter  now,  so  I've  just  snuffed  the  candle, 
and  got  all  my  utensils  about  me,  and  am  going  to  see 
how  quickly  I  can  write  a  good  long  one. 

Well,  for  my  convenience,  I  beg  that  you  will  borrow 
the  wings  of  a  dove,  and  come  and  sit  down  here  by  me. 
There,  —  don't  you  see  what  a  nice  little  room  we  are  in? 
To  be  sure,  one  side  of  it  has  not  got  any  side  to  it, 
because  the  man  couldn't  afford  to  lath  and  plaster  it,  but 
that  patch  curtain  that  Emeline  has  hung  up  makes  it 
snug  enough  for  summer  time,  and  reminds  us  of  the  days 
of  ancient  tapestried  halls,  and  all  that.  That  door,  where 
the  curtain  is,  goes  into  the  entry ;  and  there,  right  oppo 
site,  is  another  one  that  goes  into  the  parlor,  but  I  shall 
not  go  in  there  with  you,  because  there  aren't  any  chairs 
in  there;  you  might  sit  on  Emeline's  blue  trunk,  or 
51 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Sarah's  green  one,  though  ;  but  I'm  afraid  you  would  go 
behind  the  sheet  in  the  corner,  and  steal  some  of  Erne- 
line's  milk  that  she's  saving  to  make  butter  of;  and  then, 
just  as  likely  as  not,  you'd  want  to  know  why  that  square 
piece  of  board  was  put  on  the  bottom  of  the  window,  with 
the  pitchfork  stuck  into  it  to  keep  it  from  falling;  of 
course,  we  shouldn't  like  to  tell  you  that  there's  a  square 
of  glass  out,  and  I  suppose  you  don't  know  about  that 
great  tom-cat's  coming  in,  two  nights,  after  we  had  all 
gone  to  bed,  and  making  that  awful  caterwauling.  So 
you  had  better  stay  here  in  the  kitchen,  and  I'll  show  you 
all  the  things ;  it  won't  take  long.  That  door  at  the  top 
of  three  steps  leads  upstairs ;  the  little  low  one  close  to 
it  is  the  closet  door,  —  you  needn't  go  prying  in  there,  to 
see  what  we've  got  to  eat,  for  you'll  certainly  bump  your 
head  if  you  do ;  pass  by  the  parlor  door  and  the  curtain, 
and  look  out  of  that  window  on  the  front  side  of  the 
house ;  if  it  was  not  so  dark,  you  might  see  the  beautiful 
flower-beds  that  Sarah  has  made,  —  a  big  diamond  in  the 
centre,  with  four  triangles  to  match  it.  As  true  as  I  live, 
she  has  been  making  her  initials  right  in  the  centre  of  the 
diamond !  There's  a  great  S,  and  an  M,  but  where's  the  H  ? 
Oh !  you  don't  know  how  that  dog  came  in  and  scratched 
it  all  up,  and  laid  down  there  to  sun  himself,  the  other 
day.  We  tell  her  there's  a  sign  to  it,  —  losing  her  maiden 
name  so  soon.  She  declares  she  won't  have  it  altered  by 
a  puppy,  though.  These  two  windows  look  (through  the 
fence)  over  to  our  next  neighbor's  ;  that's  our  new  cooking- 
stove  between  them  ;  isn't  it  a  cunning  one  ?  the  funnel 
goes  up  clear  through  Emeline's  bedroom,  till  it  gets  to 
"outdoors."  We  keep  our  chimney  in  the  parlor.  Then 
that  door  on  the  other  side  looks  away  across  the  prairie, 
three  or  four  miles ;  and  that  brings  us  to  where  we 
started  from. 

52 


Furniture  and   Food 

As  to  furniture,  this  is  the  table,  where  I  am  writing ; 
it  is  a  stained  one,  without  leaves,  large  enough  for  six 
to  eat  from,  and  it  cost  just  two  dollars  and  a  quarter. 
There  are  a  half  dozen  chairs,  black,  with  yellow  figures, 
and  this  is  the  rocking-chair,  where  we  get  baby  to  sleep. 
That  is  E.'s  rag  mat  before  the  stove,  and  George  fixed 
that  shelf  for  the  waterpail  in  the  corner.  The  coffee-mill 
is  close  to  it,  and  that's  all.  Now  don't  you  call  us  rich  ? 
I'm  sure  we  feel  grand  enough. 

Now,  if  you  would  only  just  come  and  make  us  a  visit 
in  earnest,  Emeline  would  make  you  some  nice  corn-meal 
fritters,  and  you  should  have  some  cream  and  sugar  on 
them ;  and  I  would  make  you  some  nice  doughnuts,  for 
IVe  learned  so  much  ;  and  you  should  have  milk  or  coffee, 
just  as  you  pleased ;  it  is  genteel  to  drink  coffee  for  break 
fast,  dinner,  and  supper,  here.  Then,  if  you  didn't  feel 
satisfied,  we  should  say  that  it  was  because  you  hadn't 
lived  on  johnny-cakes  and  milk  a  week,  as  we  did. 

I  have  got  to  begin  to  be  very  dignified,  for  I  am  going 
to  begin  to  keep  school  next  Monday,  in  a  little  log-cabin, 
all  alone.  One  of  the  "  committee  men  "  took  me  to 
Lebanon,  last  Saturday,  in  his  prairie  wagon,  to  be  ex 
amined.  You've  no  idea  how  frightened  I  was,  but  I 
answered  all  their  questions,  and  didn't  make  any  more 
mistakes  than  they  did.  They  told  me  I  made  handsome 
figures,  wrote  a  good  hand,  and  spoke  correctly,  so  I  begin 
to  feel  as  if  I  know  most  as  much  as  other  folks. 

Emeline  does  not  gain  any  flesh,  although  she  has  grown 
very  handsome  since  she  came  to  the  land  of  "  hog  and 
hominy."  Your  humble  servant  is  as  fat  as  a  pig,  as 
usual,  though  she  has  not  tasted  any  of  the  porkers  since 
her  emigration,  for  the  same  reason  that  a  certain  gentle 
man  Would  not  eat  any  of  Aunt  Betsy's  cucumbers,  —  "  not 
fit  to  eat."  That's  my  opinion,  and  if  you  had  seen  such 
53 


The  Friendly  Craft 

specimens  of  the  living  animal  as  I  have,  since  I  left  home, 
you'd  say  so,  too. 

LUCY 

The  happy  home  of  an  old  bachelor     ^>      ^>      -^> 
SUNNYSIDE,  March  n,  1853 

MY  DEAR  MRS.  KENNEDY: 
...  I  arrived  in  New  York  too  late  for  the  Hudson 
River  Railroad  cars,  so  I  had  to  remain  in  the  city  until 
morning.  Yesterday  I  alighted  at  the  station,  within  ten 
minutes'  walk  of  home.  The  walk  was  along  the  railroad, 
in  full  sight  of  the  house.  I  saw  female  forms  in  the 
porch,  and  I  knew  the  spy-glass  was  in  hand.  In  a 
moment  there  was  a  waving  of  handkerchiefs,  and  a 
hurrying  hither  and  thither.  Never  did  old  bachelor  come 
to  such  a  loving  home,  so  gladdened  by  blessed  woman 
kind.  In  fact  I  doubt  whether  many  married  men  receive 
such  a  heartfelt  welcome.  My  friend  Horseshoe  [Mr. 
Kennedy],  and  one  or  two  others  of  my  acquaintance, 
may ;  but  there  are  not  many  as  well  off  in  domestic  life 
as  I.  However,  let  me  be  humbly  thankful,  and  repress 
all  vainglory. 

After  all  the  kissing  and  crying  and  laughing  and 
rejoicing  were  over,  I  sallied  forth  to  inspect  my  domains, 
welcomed  home  by  my  prime  minister  Robert,  and  my 
master  of  the  house  Thomas,  and  my  keeper  of  the  poultry 
yard,  William.  Everything  was  in  good  order;  all  had 
been  faithful  in  the  discharge  of  their  duties.  My  fields 
had  been  manured,  my  trees  trimmed,  the  fences  repaired 
and  painted.  I  really  believe  more  had  been  done  in  my 
absence  than  would  have  been  done  had  I  been  home. 
My  horses  were  in  good  condition.  Dandy  and  Billy,  the 
coach  horses,  were  as  sleek  as  seals.  Gentleman  Dick, 
54 


Rural   Matters 

my  saddle  horse,  showed  manifest  pleasure  at  seeing  me ; 
put  his  cheek  against  mine,  laid  his  head  on  my  shoulder, 
and  would  have  nibbled  at  my  ear  had  I  permitted  it.  One 
of  my  Chinese  geese  was  sitting  on  eggs ;  the  rest  were 
sailing  like  frigates  in  the  pond,  with  a  whole  fleet  of  white 
topknot  ducks.  The  hens  were  vying  with  each  other 
which  could  bring  out  the  earliest  brood  of  chickens. 
Taffy  and  Tony,  two  pet  dogs  of  a  dandy  race,  kej./  more 
for  show  than  use,  received  me  with  well-bred  though 
rather  cool  civility ;  while  my  little  terrier  slut  Ginger 
bounded  about  me  almost  crazy  with  delight,  having  five 
little  Gingers  toddling  at  her  heels,  with  which  she  had 
enriched  me  during  my  absence. 

I  forbear  to  say  anything  about  my  cows,  my  Durham 
heifer,  or  my  pigeons,  having  gone  as  far  with  these  rural 
matters  as  may  be  agreeable.  Suffice  it  to  say,  everything 
was  just  as  heart  could  wish  ;  so,  having  visited  every 
part  of  my  empire,  I  settled  down  for  the  evening  in  my 
elbow  chair,  and  entertained  the  family  circle  with  all  the 
wonders  I  had  seen  at  Washington.  .  .  . 

God  bless  you  all,  and  make  you  as  happy  as  you  de 
light  to  make  others.  Ever  yours  most  truly, 

WASHINGTON  IRVING 


Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich  writes  from  a   "  dim    spot  of 
earth  called  Boston "        ^^x        *o        ^\>       *^x 

(To  George  E.  Woodberry) 

MILTON,  May  14,  1892 

DEAR  WOODBERRY,  — This  little  realm  —  bounded 
on  the  North  by  "Tamerlane,"  and  on  the  South, 
East,  and  West  by  preparations  for  Europe  —  must  seem 
55 


The  Friendly  Craft 

to  you  a  very  contracted  realm  indeed,  compared  to  the 
great  wallowing  sphere  in  which  you  live,  move,  and  have 
your  —  salary.  Nevertheless,  I  drop  you  a  line  from  this 
dim  spot  of  earth  called  Boston.  A  bloated  bondholder 
with  $1850  snatched  that  copy  of  "Tamerlane"  away 
from  me  and  I  saw  it  go  with  tears  in  my  eyes.  I  went 
home  and  wrote  a  misanthropic  poem  called  "  Unguarded 
Gates,"  (July  Atlantic  !),  in  which  I  mildly  protest  against 
America  becoming  the  cesspool  of  Europe.  I'm  much  too 
late,  however.  I  looked  in  on  an  anarchist  meeting  the 
other  night,  as  I  told  you,  and  heard  such  things  spoken 
by  our  "feller  citizens"  as  made  my  cheek  burn.  These 
brutes  are  the  spawn  and  natural  result  of  the  French 
Revolution ;  they  don't  want  any  government  at  all,  they 
"  want  the  earth "  (like  a  man  in  a  balloon)  and  chaos. 
My  Americanism  goes  clean  beyond  yours.  I  believe  in 
America  for  the  Americans  ;  I  believe  in  the  widest  freedom 
and  the  narrowest  license,  and  I  hold  that  jail-birds,  pro 
fessional  murderers,  amateur  lepers  ("  moon-eyed "  or 
otherwise),  and  human  gorillas  generally  should  be  closely 
questioned  at  our  Gates.  Or  the  "'sifting"  that  was  done 
of  old  will  have  to  be  done  over  again.  A  hundred  and 
fifty  years  from  now,  Americans  —  if  any  Americans  are 
left  —  will  find  themselves  being  grilled  for  believing  in 
God  after  their  own  fashion.  As  nearly  as  I  can  estimate 
it  off-hand,  there  will  be  only  five  or  six  extant  —  the  poor 
devils  !  I  pity  them  prospectively.  They  were  a  promis 
ing  race,  they  had  such  good  chances,  but  their  politicians 
would  coddle  the  worst  elements  for  votes,  and  the  news 
papers  would  appeal  to  the  slums  for  readers.  The  reins 
of  government  in  all  their  great  cities  and  towns  slipped 
from  the  hands  of  the  natives.  A  certain  Arabian  writer, 
called  Rudyard  Kipling,  described  exactly  the  government 
of  every  city  and  town  in  the  (then)  United  States  when 
56 


Dear  Little  Trip 

he  described  that  of  New  York  as  being  "a  despotism  of 
the  alien,  by  the  alien,  for  the  alien,  tempered  with  occa 
sional  insurrections  of  decent  folk." 

But  to  turn  to  important  matters,  I  am  having  a  bit  of 
headstone  made  for  Trip's  l  grave  at  Ponkapog.  The  dear 
little  fellow  !  he  had  better  manners  and  more  intelligence 
than  half  the  persons  you  meet  "  on  the  platform  of  a 
West-End  car.11  He  wasn't  constantly  getting  drunk  and 
falling  out  of  the  windows  of  tenement  houses,  like  Mrs. 
OTlarraty  ;  he  wasn't  forever  stabbing  somebody  in  North 
Street.  Why  should  he  be  dead,  and  these  other  creatures 
exhausting  the  ozone?  If  he  had  written  realistic  novels 
and  "  poems  "  I  could  understand  "  the  deep  damnation  of 
his  taking  off.11  In  view  of  my  own  mature  years  I  will 
not  say  that  "they  die  early  whom  the  gods  love.11  .  .  . 
No.  59  is  to  close  its  door  on  May  17,  and  we  are  to  spend 
our  time  here  and  there,  principally  at  Ponkapog,  until  the 
I3th  of  June,  when  we  shall  go  to  New  York  to  sail  on  the 
I5th.  .  .  .  Mrs.  T.  B.  is  having  a  good  time  in  turning 
our  house  upside  down,  and  making  it  no  place  for  a 
Christian  to  write  hundred-dollar  lyrics  in.  She  insisted 
on  having  my  inkstand  washed,  and  I  got  a  temporary 
divorce.  .  .  . 

Fve  had  no  word  from  you  for  ages,  and  now  I  think 
of  it,  you  don't  deserve  so  long  and  instructive  a  letter  as 
this,  and  so  Til  end  it. 

Affectionately  yours, 

T.  B.  A. 

1  his  dog. 


57 


The  Friendly  Craft 

The  beauty  that  ever  is  on  land  and  sea  ^y    ^^    <^ 
BEVERLY,  MASS.,  December  15,  1867 

MY  DEAR  MISS  INGELOW,  — It  was  very  kind  of 
you  to  write  to  me,  and  I  can  hardly  tell  you  how 
much  pleasure  your  letter  gave  me,  in  my  at  present  lonely 
and  unsettled  life.  I  think  a  woman's  life  is  necessarily 
lonely,  if  unsettled:  the  home-instinct  lies  so  deep  in  us. 
But  I  have  never  had  a  real  home  since  I  was  a  little 
child.  I  have  married  sisters,  with  whom  I  stay,  when 
my  work  allows  it,  but  that  is  not  like  one's  own  place. 
I  want  a  corner  exclusively  mine,  in  which  to  spin  my  own 
web  and  ravel  it  again,  if  I  wish. 

I  wish  I  could  learn  to  think  my  own  thoughts  in  the 
thick  of  other  people's  lives,  but  I  never  could,  and  I  am 
too  old  to  begin  now.  However,  there  are  compensations 
in  all  things,  and  I  would  not  be  out  of  reach  of  the  happy 
children's  voices,  which  echo  round  me,  although  they 
will  break  in  upon  me  rather  suddenly,  sometimes. 

You  asked  about  the  sea,  —  our  sea.  The  coast  here 
is  not  remarkable.  Just  here  there  is  a  deep,  sunny 
harbor,  that  sheltered  the  second  company  of  the  Pil 
grim  settlers  from  the  Mother-Country,  more  than  two 
centuries  ago.  A  little  river,  which  has  leave  to  be  such 
only  at  the  return  of  the  tide,  half  clasps  the  town  in  its 
crooked  arm,  and  makes  many  an  opening  of  beauty  twice 
a  day,  among  the  fields  and  under  the  hills.  The  harbor 
is  so  shut  in  by  islands,  it  has  the  effect  of  a  lake  ;  and  the 
tide  comes  up  over  the  wide,  weedy  flats,  with  a  gentle 
and  gradual  flow.  There  are  never  any  dangerous  "  High 
Tides  "  here.  But  up  the  shore  a  mile  or  two,  the  islands 
drift  away,  and  the  sea  opens  gradually  as  we  near  the 
storm-beaten  point  of  Cape  Ann,  where  we  can  see  noth 
ing  but  the  waves  and  the  ships,  between  us  and  Great 
53 


Coast  Flowers 

Britain.  The  granite  cliffs  grow  higher  towards  the  Cape, 
but  their  hollows  are  relieved  by  little  thickets  of  intensely 
red  wild  roses,  and  later,  by  the  purple  twinkling  asters, 
and  the  golden-rod's  embodied  sunshine. 

The  east  wind  is  bitter  upon  our  coast.  The  wild  rocks 
along  the  Cape  are  strewn  with  memories  of  shipwreck. 
Perhaps  you  remember  Longfellow's  "  Wreck  of  the  Hes 
perus.1'  The  "Reef  of  Norman's  Woe"  is  at  Cape  Ann, 
ten  miles  or  so  from  here.  About  the  same  distance  out, 
there  is  a  group  of  islands,  —  the  Isles  of  Shoals,  which 
are  a  favorite  resort  in  the  summer,  and  getting  to  be 
somewhat  too  fashionable,  for  their  charm  is  the  wild- 
ness  which  they  reveal  and  allow.  Dressed  up  people 
spoil  nature,  somehow ;  unintentionally,  I  suppose ;  but 
the  human  butterflies  are  better  in  their  own  parterres. 
At  Appledore,  one  of  the  larger  of  these  islands,  I  have 
spent  many  happy  days  with  the  sister  of  our  poet 
Whittier,  now  passed  to  the  eternal  shores, — and  the 
last  summer  was  there  again,  without  her,  alas  !  I  missed 
her  so,  even  though  her  noble  brother  was  there  !  Perhaps 
that  only  recalled  the  lost,  lovely  days  too  vividly.  I  have 
seldom  loved  any  one  as  I  loved  her. 

These  islands  are  full  of  strange  gorges  and  caverns, 
haunted  with  stories  of  pirate  and  ghost.  The  old-world 
romance  seems  to  have  floated  to  them.  And  there  I  first 
saw  your  English  pimpernel.  It  came  here  with  the  Pil 
grims,  I  suppose,  as  it  is  not  a  native.  It  is  most  pleasant 
to  meet  with  these  emigrant  flowers.  Most  of  them  are 
carefully  tended  in  gardens,  but  some  are  healthily  natural 
ized  in  the  bleakest  spots.  I  should  so  like  to  see  the 
daisies  —  Chaucer's  daisies  —  in  their  native  fields;  and 
the  "  yellow  primrose,"  too.  Neither  of  these  grows  readily 
in  our  gardens.  I  have  seen  them  only  as  petted  house- 
plants. 

59 


The  Friendly  Craft 

I  recognize  some  of  our  wild  flowers  in  your  "  Songs  of 
Seven."  By  the  way,  Mr.  Niles  has  sent  me  an  illustrated 
copy  of  it,  and  what  a  gem  it  is !  But  I  hardly  know  what 
are  especially  ours.  Have  you  the  tiny  blue  four-petaled 
"  Houstonia  Ccerulia  "  ?  —  our  first  flower  of  spring,  that 
and  the  rock-saxifrage!  And  is  October  in  England 
gladdened  with  the  heavenly  azure  of  the  fringed  gentian? 
And  does  the  climbing  bitter-sweet  hang  its  orange- 
colored  fruit  high  in  the  deep  green  of  the  pine-trees,  in 
the  autumn?  The  most  wonderful  climber  I  ever  saw  was 
the  trumpet-vine  of  the  West.  It  grew  on  the  banks  of 
the  Mississippi,  climbing  to  the  top  of  immense  primeval 
trees,  bursting  out,  there,  into  great  red,  clarion-like 
flowers.  It  seems  literally  to  fix  a  foot  in  the  trees  as  it 
climbs,  —  and  it  has  an  uncivilized  way  of  pulling  the 
shingles  off  the  roofs  of  the  houses  over  which  it  is 
trained.  I  am  glad  that  violets  are  common  property  in 
the  world.  The  prairies  are  blue  with  them.  How  at 
home  they  used  to  make  me  feel!  for  they  are  New  Eng 
land  blossoms  too. 

I  wonder  if  you  like  the  mountains  as  well  as  you  do  the 
sea.  I  am  afraid  I  do,  and  better,  even.  It  seems  half 
disloyal  to  say  so,  for  I  was  born  here  ;  to  me  there  is  rest 
and  strength,  and  aspiration  and  exultation,  among  the 
mountains.  They  are  nearly  a  day's  journey  from  us  — 
the  White  Mountains  —  but  I  will  go,  and  get  a  glimpse 
and  a  breath  of  their  glory,  once  a  year,  always.  I  was  at 
Winnipiseogee,  a  mountain-girdled  lake,  in  New  Hamp 
shire,  when  I  saw  your  handwriting,  first,  —  in  a  letter 
which  told  of  your  having  been  in  Switzerland.  We  have 
no  sky-cleaving  Alps,  —  there  is  a  massiveness,  a  breadth, 
about  the  hill  scenery  here,  quite  unlike  them,  I  fancy.  But 
such  cascades,  such  streams  as  rise  in  the  hard  granite,  pure 
as  liquid  diamonds,  and  with  a  clear  little  thread  of  music! 
60. 


Argosies  of  Poetry 

I  usually  stop  at  a  village  on  the  banks  of  the  Pemige- 
wasset,  a  small  silvery  river  that  flows  from  the  Notch 
Mountains,  —  a  noble  pile,  that  hangs  like  a  dream,  and 
flits  like  one  too,  in  the  cloudy  air,  as  you  follow  the 
stream's  winding  up  to  the  Flume,  which  is  a  strange 
grotto,  cut  sharply  down  hundreds  of  feet  through  a  moun 
tain's  heart ;  an  immense  boulder  was  lodged  in  the  cleft 
when  it  was  riven,  half  way  down,  and  there  it  forever 
hangs,  over  the  singing  stream.  The  sundered  rocks  are 
dark  with  pines,  and  I  never  saw  anything  lovelier  than 
the  green  light  with  which  the  grotto  is  flooded  by  the 
afternoon  sun.  But  I  must  not  go  on  about  the  mountains, 
or  I  shall  never  stop, —  I  want  to  say  something  about  our 
poets,  but  I  will  not  do  that,  either. 

Beauty  drifts  to  us  from  the  mother-land,  across  the  sea, 
in  argosies  of  poetry.  How  rich  we  are  with  old  England's 
wealth!  Our  own  lies  yet  somewhat  in  the  ore,  but  I  think 
we  have  the  genuine  metal. 

How  true  it  is,  as  you  say,  that  we  can  never  utter  the 
best  that  is  in  us,  poets  or  not.  And  the  great  true 
voices  are  so,  not  so  much  because  they  can  speak  for 
themselves,  but  because  they  are  the  voices  of  our  common 
humanity. 

The  poets  are  but  leaders  in  the  chorus  of  souls,  —  they 
utter  our  paeans  and  our  misereres,  and  so  we  feel  that  they 
belong  to  us.  It  is  indeed  a  divine  gift,  the  power  of 
drawing  hearts  upward  through  the  magic  of  a  song;  and 
the  anointed  ones  must  receive  their  chrism  with  a  holy 
humility.  They  receive  but  to  give  again,  — "  more 
blessed  "  so.  And  they  may  also  receive  the  gratitude  of 
those  they  bless,  to  give  it  back  to  God. 

I  hope  you  will  write  to  me  again  some  time,  though 
I  am  afraid  I   ought  not  to  expect  it.     I   know  what  it 
is  to  have  the  day  too  short  for  the  occupations  which 
61 


The  Friendly   Craft 

must  fill  it,  —  to  say  nothing  of  what  might,  very  pleas 
antly,  too. 

But  I  shall  always  be  sincerely  and  gratefully  yours, 

LUCY  LARCOM 

IV 

LITTLE   MEN   AND    LITTLE   WOMEN 

The  heart  of  a  boy     ^^      ^^     <^>      ^>     ^>     ^> 

(Three  letters  from  William  Hamilton  Gibson) 

I 
WASHINGTON  [CONN.],  March  i,  1863 

DEAR  MOTHER: 
I  received  your  letter  for  the  first  in  three  weeks  and 
was  as  happy  as  a  king  and  I  am  now,  you  may  expect  a 
letter  from  me  every  week. 

Only  till  the  latter  part  of  this  month  before  the  Exhibi 
tion,  and  then  comes  vacation  which  I  long  for  very  much. 
Every  Friday  the  boys  act  a  drama;  the  last  one  was 
"  Love  in  '76,"  and  was  perfectly  splendid  and  the  one 
before  that  was  "  Romance  under  Difficulties,"  and  that 
was  better  than  the  last.  I  wish  you  could  send  me  up 
some  small  dramas  because  I  would  like  to  read  them. 

The  principal  thing  among  the  boys  is  catching  mice 
with  little  box  traps,  (like  the  one  that  Grandpa  made  two 
or  three  summers  ago)  which  we  make  ourselves.  One 
of  the  boys  took  some  hoopskirt  and  made  a  cage  to  keep 
his  mice  in  and  I  made  two  and  have  got  four  traps.  The 
boy  that  made  the  first  trap  made  the  first  cage  and  he  is 
a  very  ingenious  boy  his  name  is  Charley  Howard  he  is  a 
nice  boy  and  is  liked  throughout  this  whole  great  institu 
tion  as  well  as  the  other  boys  too. 
62 


Cotty's  Boils 

It  is  a  very  unpleasant  day  first  in  the  morning  it  snowed 
and' next  it  rained  and  now  it  is  snowing  again  and  looks 
as  if  it  would  snow  a  long  while  it  is  dark  dismal  and 

foggy- 

I  am  very  sorry  that  Cotty  has  so  many  boils,  because 
I  can  imagine  how  they  feel  but  you  must  tell  him  he  must 
try  to  be  as  patient  as  Job  if  he  can.  The  other  evening 
I  touched  the  tip  end  of  my  nose  to  the  stove  pipe  the  stove 
pipe  being  hot  burnt  the  tip  of  my  nose  off  so  now  every 
where  I  go  I  am  laughed  at.  It  don't  hurt  me  any  to  be 
laughed  at  if  they  leave  my  nose  alone  that  is  all  I  ask. 

The  other  day  I  was  sliding  out  in  the  grove  on  the  ice 
and  I  slipped  and  fell  and  struck  on  my  sore  knee  and  now 
it  cracks  just  like  it  did  first,  only  it  don't  hurt  me  so  much, 
but  I  guess  I  will  get  over  it  before  long.  I  am  known  in 
this  school  by  the  name  of  Fatty  and  Pussy  and  am  so 
used  to  it  that  I  take  it  as  my  own  name. 

Please  ask  Julie  and  Henry  if  they  think  that  they  are 
big  enough  to  read  letters,  and  if  they  say  yes  tell  them  I 
will  write  to  them  you  tell  me  in  your  next  letter.  In 
your  answer  let  Hubie  write  as  he  did  in  one  of  your 
letters. 

And  now  as  I  have  written  you  a  long  letter  I  will  stop. 
Sending  love  to  you  all  and  give  them  all  a  kiss  for  me. 

From  your  aff.  WILLIE 

P.S.     Excuse  bad  writing  as  I  have  a  sore  finger. 


II 
WASHINGTON,  CONN.,  May  21,  1864 

EAR    MOTHER : 

I    arrived    here    safely.      Meeting    Willie    B.  and 

Bertie  B.  &  Mary  Gunn  all  at  Newtown  in  the  cars.  We 

had   a  very  pleasant  time  coming  up  &  Mrs.  Gunn  was 

63 


D 


The  Friendly  Craft 

delighted  with  the  Tulips.  Everybody  noticed  my  diamond 
pin,  &  I  tell  you  what !  !  !  !  They  praise  it  up,  saying  & 
asking  me  how  much  it  cost  ?  and  having  me  stand  still, 
so  that  they  might  see  it,  once  in  a  while.  I  do  stand  still 
&  let  them  feast  their  eyes  on  it.  Some  of  them  ask 
me  if  it  is  glass  set  round  with  Gutta  Perchaand  brass.  I 
always  tell  them  "  yes  of  course.1'  I  tell  you  what  !  ! 
I'm  proud  of  it  and  will  keep  it  &  conform  to  your  rules. 
I  wear  it  whenever  I  go  to  school  &  put  the  guard  on 
my  shirt,  so  if  the  tie  should  fall  off  it  would  be  held  on. 
I  suppose  you  remember  the  blue  tie  that  you  got  me.  I 
wore  it  up  from  N.Y.  to  here,  &  my  rough  coat  rubbing 
against  it  made  it  look  awful,  bringing  out  all  the  shoddy, 
and  making  it  look  like  down  all  over  the  tie. 

When  I  got  home  I  took  every  bit  of  the  white  stuff  out 
&  now  all  the  boys  think  it  looks  a  great  deal  prettier. 
Dear  Mother  I  want  to  tell  you  something  about  that  hat. 
It  is  one  that  I  have  had  two  winters,  and  I  like  it  because 
it  is  so  old.  I  would  rather  have  this  one  than  a  new  one, 
and  the  other  is  not  fit  to  wear  and  doesn't  fit  me,  so  Henry 
may  have  a  new  one. 

Mrs.  Gunn  thinks  that  I  ought  to  have  my  own  old  hat. 
And  she  is  going  to  try  and  have  the  other  one  fixed  up 
for  Henry. 

Here  I  must  stop,  I  am  your  affectionate  Son, 

WILLIE 

III 

WASHINGTON,  CONN., 

Dec.  6,  1864 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER : 
It  is  a  very  cold  day,  and  we  have  just  come  in 
from  out  doors.     We  all  have  been  playing  foot  ball  Which 
is  a  very  exciting  game.     However  I  don't  play  much  for 
64 


Football  and  Lessons 

the  simple  reason,  that  I  am  too  short  winded.  A  great 
many  of  the  boys  get  their  shins  kicked,  but  I  am  very 
fortunate,  for  I  have  never  got  mine  kicked  but  once  and 
then  I  kicked  it  myself,  when  I  meant  to  have  kicked  the 
foot-ball.  At  all  times  of  the  recess  you  can  look  about 
the  green  and  see  certain  boys  hopping  about  holding  one 
leg  up,  and  crying.  .  .  . 

This  year  I  study  a  great  many  lessons,  Latin,  Anat 
omy,  Book-keeping,  Spelling,  &  Arithmetic.  In  Latin,  I 
get  along  nicely.  It  seems  a  great  deal  easier  this  term 
than  it  ever  has  yet.  In  Anatomy  I  get  along  perfectly 
splendid.  I  know  every  bone  in  your  body  and  the  latin 
(or  Scientific)  names  of  them  all.  in  book-keeping  I  get 
along  nicely.  In  Arithmetic  I  am  in  square  root  and  I 
understand  it  perfectly.  I  guess  that  if  Mr.  Gunn  writes 
to  you,  he  will  say  that  I  get  along  very  well  in  my  studies, 
and  you  can  tell  Father  so  too. 

I  suppose  that  he  thinks  that  I  idle  away  my  time  writ 
ing  letters,  to  be  sure  I  do  write  a  great  many  letters,  but 
I  don't  write  them  until  all  my  studies  are  learned,  now 
this  is  so.  And  while  a  person  is  away  from  home  he  wants 
to  hear  from  his  friends.  All  the  boys  write  a  great  many 
letters. 

Please  send  me  some  postage  stamps  in  your  letter. 

Here  I  must  stop  with  love  to  all. 

I  remain  your  aff.  Son  WILLIE 

Thomas  Gold  Appleton  is    "pretty  well   worn   out" 

at    School  *^>       "Q*       <^x       <^»       ^>      ^y       *Cy 

NEW  IPSWICH,  i8th/iv/x  [1825?] 

MON  CHER  PERE  :  I  now  undertake  to  write  you  for 
the  first  time.     I  shall  put  it  in  a  sort  of  journal, 
beginning  — 

F  65 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Monday.  —  When  you  left  me,  I  went  into  Mr.  Newell's, 
and  read  of  the  water-spout,  etc.,  in  his  book  of  curiosities. 
After  breakfast,  I  drew  a  little  of  that  mill-view  I  got  of 
Mr.  Brown ;  after  which  I  mowed  a  little  with  my  host, 
Sam,  and  another,  but  very  poorly.  After  dinner,  I  helped 
them  get  in  an  exceeding  large  load ;  going  into  the  barn, 
my  head  struck,  very  nearly,  the  beams,  I  being  on  top.  I 
am  as  yet  well  pleased  with  my  host  and  hostess,  and  hope 
to  be  contented. 

Tuesday.  —  I  went  for  the  first  time  to-day  to  that  den 
of  tyranny  a  school.  I  recited  a  lesson  in  Sallust,  and  was 
pretty  well  worn  out  before  I  came  home.  This  afternoon 
I  stayed  from  school  to  write. 

.   .   .  I  do  not  think  school  did  me  much  good  to-day,  and 
I  don't  want  to  stay  there  long.     I  long  to  see  you  and 
the  rest  of  the  family,  as  I  am  rather  tired  of  New  Ipswich. 
I  remain,  your 

Ever-loving  son, 

T.  G.  APPLETON 

P.S.  —  I  hope  to  come  home  before  a  month  is  out. 

Reprinted  from   Male's   "  Life   and   Letters   of  Thomas    Gold  Appleton." 
Copyright,  1885,  by  D.  Appleton  &  Co. 

But  recovers  after  hearing  "  two  very   affecting  ser 
mons  "    ^^     ^>     ^y     -<v>    *^>     ^>     ^>     ^> 

NEW  IPSWICH,////K  25th  [1825?] 

MY  FATHER :  You  cannot  conceive  what  pleasure  I 
felt  in  reading  your  letter.    I  have  been  much  better 
the  last  two  days,  which  I  am  sure  you  will  be  glad  to  hear. 
We  had  two  very  affecting  sermons  yesterday  by  a  Mr. 
Danforth  :  the  afternoon  one  was  a  funeral  sermon ;  the 
text  was,  "And  there  is  no  hope.1'     He  gave  a  very  ani 
mating  description  of  the  torments  of  the  sinner  in  hell, 
66 


The  Baby  by  the  Fire 

for  whom  there  is  no  hope,  upon  whom  the  dark  waves  of 
eternity  roll,  tinged  with  the  bitter  wrath  of  the  Almighty. 
On  Saturday,  I  had  a  visit  from  Mr.  Wallace,  who  offered 
to  lend  me  any  books  he  had,  and  invited  me  to  come  over 
and  play  chess  with  him,  and  showed  beaucoup  de  la  poli- 
tesse.  I  read  "  The  Absentee,11  by  Mrs.  Edgeworth,  and 
am  reading  "  Clarentine."  I  have  drawn  as  yet  three 
pieces,  one  of  them,  for  Sam,  a  scare-crow.  The  dog-days 
begin  to-day,  and  it  rains,  and  I  feel  rather  dogmatic.  I 
did  not  go  to  school  this  morning,  but  expect  to  this  after 
noon,  although  it  rains.  .  .  . 

Reprinted   from   Male's   "  Life   and   Letters   of  Thomas   Gold  Appleton." 
Copyright,  1885,  by  D.  Appleton  &  Co. 

A  fireside  picture    <^v    ^>     <^     *^y     ^v    ^>    ^y 

(Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  to  his  wife) 

February  19,  1838 

HERE  sits  Waldo  beside  me  on  the  cricket,  with 
mamma's  best  crimson  decanter-stand  in  his 
hand,  experimenting  on  the  powers  of  a  cracked  pitcher- 
handle  to  scratch  and  remove  crimson  pigment.  News 
comes  from  the  nursery  that  Hillman,  has  taught  him  A 
and  E  on  his  cards,  and  that  once  he  has  called  T.  All 
roasted  with  the  hot  fire,  he  at  present  gives  little  sign  of 
so  much  literature,  but  seems  to  be  in  good  health,  and  has 
just  now  been  singing,  much  in  the  admired  style  of  his 
papa,  as  heard  by  you  only  on  several  occasions.  .  .  . 

Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli  and  her  baby  keep  Christmas 
in  Florence      ^^y  <^>  x^>  *o  *^x  ^>   ^>  *^x 

[1849] 

.   .  .   /CHRISTMAS  DAY  I  was  just  up,  and  Nino  all 
V-x    naked  on  his  sofa,  when  came  some  beautiful 
large  toys  that  had  been  sent  him :  a  bird,  a  horse,  a  cat, 
67 


The  Friendly  Craft 

that  could  be  moved  to  express  different  things.  It  almost 
made  me  cry  to  see  the  kind  of  fearful  rapture  with  which  he 
regarded  them,  —  legs  and  arms  extended,  fingers  and  toes 
quivering,  mouth  made  up  to  a  little  round  O,  eyes  dilated ; 
for  a  long  time  he  did  not  even  wish  to  touch  them  ;  after 
he  began  to,  he  was  different  with  all  three,  loving  the  bird, 
very  wild  and  shouting  with  the  horse  ;  with  the  cat,  putting 
her  face  close  to  his,  staring  in  her  eyes,  and  then  throw 
ing  her  away.  Afterwards  I  drew  him  in  a  lottery,  at  a 
child's  party  given  by  Mrs.  Greenough,  a  toy  of  a  child 
asleep  on  the  neck  of  a  tiger ;  the  tiger  is  stretching  up  to 
look  at  the  child.  This  he  likes  best  of  any  of  his  toys. 
It  is  sweet  to  see  him  when  he  gets  used  to  them,  and 
plays  by  himself,  whispering  to  them,  seeming  to  contrive 
stories.  You  would  laugh  to  know  how  much  remorse  I 
feel  that  I  never  gave  children  more  toys  in  the  course  of 
my  life.  I  regret  all  the  money  I  ever  spent  on  myself  or 
in  little  presents  for  grown  people,  hardened  sinners.  I 
did  not  know  what  pure  delight  could  be  bestowed.  I  am 
sure  if  Jesus  Christ  had  given,  it  would  not  have  been 
little  crosses. 

There  is  snow  all  over  Florence,  in  our  most  beautiful 
piazza.  Santa  Maria  Novella,  with  its  fair  loggia  and  bridal 
church,  is  a  carpet  of  snow,  and  the  full  moon  looking 
down.  I  had  forgotten  how  angelical  all  that  is ;  how  fit 
to  die  by.  I  have  only  seen  snow  in  mountain  patches  for 
so  long.  Here  it  is  the  even  holy  shroud  of  a  desired 
power.  God  bless  all  good  and  bad  to-night,  and  save  me 
from  despair.  .  .  . 


68 


An  Exigent  Schedule 

Thomas  Jefferson  counsels  his  daughter  Martha  (aged 
eleven)       ^^>     ^Q>     ^>     ^>      ^>     ^y     ^Q> 

I.    As  to  the  improvement  of  her  time 

ANNAPOLIS,  Nov.  28th,  1783 

MY  DEAR  PATSY  — After  four  days1  journey,  I  ar 
rived  here 'without  any  accident,  and  in  as  good 
health  as  when  I  left  Philadelphia.  The  conviction  that  you 
would  be  more  improved  in  the  situation  I  have  placed  you 
than  if  still  with  me,  has  solaced  me  on  my  parting  with  you, 
which  my  love  for  you  has  rendered  a  difficult  thing.  The 
acquirements  which  I  hope  you  will  make  under  the  tutors 
I  have  provided  for  you  will  render  you  more  worthy  of  my 
love ;  and  if  they  can  not  increase  "it,  they  will  prevent  its 
diminution.  Consider  the  good  lady  who  has  taken  you 
under  her  roof,  who  has  undertaken  to  see  that  you  per 
form  all  your  exercises,  and  to  admonish  you  in  all  those 
wanderings  from  what  is  right  or  what  is  clever,  to  which 
your  inexperience  would  expose  you :  consider  her,  I  say, 
as  your  mother,  as  the  only  person  to  whom,  since  the  loss 
with  which  Heaven  has  pleased  to  afflict  you,  you  can  now 
'look  up;  and  that  her  displeasure  or  disapprobation,  on 
any  occasion,  will  be  an  immense  misfortune,  which  should 
you  be  so  unhappy  as  to  incur  by  any  unguarded  act,  think 
no  concession  too  much  to  regain  her  good-will.  With 
respect  to  the  distribution  of  your  time,  the  following  is 
what  I  should  approve  : 

From  8  to  10,  practice  music. 

From  10  to  I,  dance  one  day  and  draw  another. 

From  i  to  2,  draw  on  the  day  you  dance,  and  write 
a  letter  next  day. 

From  3  to  4,  read  French. 

From  4  to  5,  exercise  yourself  in  music. 
69 


The  Friendly   Craft 

From  5  till  bed-time,  read  English,  write,  etc. 

Communicate  this  plan  to  Mrs.  Hopkinson,  and  if  she 
approves  of  it,  pursue  it.  As  long  as  Mrs.  Trist  remains 
in  Philadelphia,  cultivate  her  affection.  She  has  been 
a  valuable  friend  to  you,  and  her  good  sense  and  good 
heart  make  her  valued  by  all  who  know  her,  and  by  no 
body  on  earth  more  than  me.  I  expect  you  will  write  me 
by  every  post.  Inform  me  what  books  you  read,  what 
times  you  learn,  and  inclose  me  your  best  copy  of  every 
lesson  in  drawing.  Write  also  one  letter  a  week  either  to 
your  Aunt  Eppes,  your  Aunt  Skipwith,  your  Aunt  Carr, 
or  the  little  lady  from  whom  I  now  inclose  a  letter,  and 
always  put  the  letter  you  so  write  under  cover  to  me. 
Take  care  that  you  never  spell  a  word  wrong.  Always 
before  you  write  a  word,  consider  how  it  is  spelt,  and,  if 
you  do  not  remember  it,  turn  to  a  dictionary.  It  produces 
great  praise  to  a  lady  to  spell  well.  I  have  placed  my 
happiness  on  seeing  you  good  and  accomplished  ;  and  no 
distress  which  this  world  can  now  bring  on  me  would 
equal  that  of  your  disappointing  my  hopes.  If  you  love 
me,  then  strive  to  be  good  under  every  situation  and  to 
all  living  creatures,  and  to  acquire  those  accomplishments 
which  I  have  put  in  your  power,  and  which  will  go  far 
towards  ensuring  you  the  warmest  love  of  your  affec 
tionate  father, 

TH.  JEFFERSON 

P.S. — Keep  my  letters  and  read  them  at  times,  that 
you  may  always  have  present  in  your  mind  those  things 
which  will  endear  you  to  me. 

From  S.  N.  Randolph's  "  Domestic  Life  of  Thomas  Jefferson,"  published 
by  Harper  &  Brothers. 


I 


Not  a  Pin  Amiss 

II.    As  to  her  dress 

ANNAPOLIS,  Dec.  22d.,  1783 

OMITTED  in  that  letter  to  advise  you  on  the  sub 
ject  of  dress,  which  I  know  you  are  a  little  apt  to 
neglect.  I  do  not  wish  you  to  be  gaily  clothed  at  this  time 
of  life,  but  that  your  wear  should  be  fine  of  its  kind.  But 
above  all  things  and  at  all  times  let  your  clothes  be  neat, 
whole,  and  properly  put  on.  Do  not  fancy  you  must  wear 
them  till  the  dirt  is  visible  to  the  eye.  You  will  be  the  last 
one  who  is  sensible  of  this.  Some  ladies  think  they  may, 
under  the  privileges  of  the  dkshabille,  be  loose  and  negli 
gent  of  their  dress  in  the  morning.  But  be  you,  from  the 
moment  you  rise  till  you  go  to  bed,  as  cleanly  and  properly 
dressed  as  at  the  hours  of  dinner  or  tea.  A  lady  who  has 
been  seen  as  a  sloven  or  a  slut  in  the  morning,  will  never 
efface  the  impression  she  has  made,  with  all  the  dress  and 
pageantry  she  can  afterwards  involve  herself  in.  Nothing 
is  so  disgusting  to  our  sex  as  a  want  of  cleanliness  and 
delicacy  in  yours.  I  hope,  therefore,  the  moment  you  rise 
from  bed,  your  first  work  will  be  to  dress  yourself  in  such 
style,  as  that  you  may  be  seen  by  any  gentleman  without 
his  being  able  to  discover  a  pin  amiss,  or  any  other  cir 
cumstance  of  neatness  wanting.  .  .  . 

From  S.  N.  Randolph's  "  Domestic  Life  of  Thomas  Jefferson,"  published 
by  Harper  &  Brothers. 

Aaron  Burr  has  views  on  women's  education    ^>    -Q> 

(To  his  wife) 
PHILADELPHIA,  i5th  P"ebruary,  1793 

RECEIVED  with  joy  and  astonishment,  on  en 
tering  the  Senate  this  minute,  your  two  elegant  and 
affectionate  letters.     The  mail  closes  in  a  few  minutes,  and 


I 


The  Friendly  Craft 

will  scarce  allow  me  to  acknowledge  your  goodness.  The 
roads  and  ferries  have  been  for  some  days  almost  impass 
able,  so  that  till  now  no  post  has  arrived  since  Monday. 

It  was  a  knowledge  of  your  mind  which  first  inspired 
me  with  a  respect  for  that  of  your  sex,  and  with  some 
regret,  I  confess,  that  the  ideas  which  you  have  often 
heard  me  express  in  favor  of  female  intellectual  powers 
are  founded  on  what  I  have  imagined,  more  than  what  I 
have  seen,  except  in  you.  I  have  endeavored  to  trace  the 
causes  of  this  rare  display  of  genius  in  women,  and  find 
them  in  the  errors  of  education,  of  prejudice,  and  of  habit. 
I  admit  that  men  are  equally,  nay  more,  much  more  to 
blame  than  women.  Boys  and  girls  are  generally  educated 
much  in  the  same  way  till  they  are  eight  or  nine  years  of 
age,  and  it  is  admitted  that  girls  make  at  least  equal 
progress  with  the  boys  ;  generally,  indeed,  they  make  better. 
Why,  men,  has  it  never  been  thought  worth  the  attempt  to 
discover,  by  fair  experiment,  the  particular  age  at  which 
the  male  superiority  becomes  so  evident?  But  this  is  not 
in  answer  to  your  letter  ;  neither  is  it  possible  now  to  an 
swer  it.  Some  parts  of  it  I  shall  never  answer.  Your 
allusions  to  departed  angels  I  think  in  bad  taste. 

I  do  not  like  Theo.'s  indolence,  or  the  apologies  which 
are  made  for  it.  Have  my  directions  been  pursued  with 
regard  to  her  Latin  and  geography? 

Your  plan  and  embellishment  of  my  mode  of  life  are 
fanciful,  are  flattering,  and  inviting.  We  will  endeavour  to 
realize  some  of  it.  Pray  continue  to  write,  if  you  can  do 
it  with  impunity.  I  bless  Sir  J.,  who.  with  the  assistance 
of  Heaven,  has  thus  far  restored  you. 

In  the  course  of  this  scrawl  I  have  been  several  times 
called  to  vote,  which  must  apologize  to  you  for  its 
incoherence.  Adieu, 

A.  BURR 
72 


An  Eye  of  Criticism 

And  puts  them  into  practice  on  Theodosia     ^x      *o 

I 
PHILADELPHIA,  7th  January,  1794 

WHEN  your  letters  are  written  with  tolerable  spirit 
and  correctness,  I  read  them  two  or  three  times 
before  I  perceive  any  fault  in  them,  being  wholly  engaged 
with  the  pleasure  they  afford  me;  but,  for  your  sake,  it  is 
necessary  that  I  should  also  peruse  them  with  an  eye  of 
criticism.  The  following  are  the  only  misspelled  words. 
You  write  acurate  for  accurate',  laudnam  for  laudanum', 
intirelytm  entirely;  this  last  word,  indeed,  is  spelled  both 
ways,  but  entirely  is  the  most  usual  and  the  most  proper. 

Continue  to  use  all  these  words  in  your  next  letter,  that 
I  may  see  that  you  know  the  true  spelling.  And  tell  me 
what  is  laudanum?  Where  and  how  made  ?  A1'  *  what 
are  its  effects? 

—  "  It  was  what  she  had  long  wished  for,  and  was  at  a 
loss  how  to  procure  //." 

Don't  you  see  that  this  sentence  would  have  been  per 
fect  and  much  more  elegant  without  the  last  it  f  Mr. 
Leshlie  will  explain  to  you  why.  By-the-by,  I  took  the 
liberty  to  erase  the  redundant//  before  I  showed  the  letter. 

I  am  extremely  impatient  for  your  farther  account  of 
mamma's  health.  The  necessity  of  laudanum  twice  a  day 
is  a  very  disagreeable  and  alarming  circumstance.  Your 
letter  was  written  a  week  ago,  since  which  I  have  no 
account.  I  am  just  going  to  the  Senate  Chamber,  where  I 
hope  to  meet  a  journal  and  letter.  Affectionately, 

A.  BURR 


73 


I 


The  Friendly  Craft 

II 
PHILADELPHIA,  I7th  September,  1795 

AM  sorry,  very  sorry  that  you  are  obliged  to  sub 
mit  to  some  reproof.  Indeed,  I  fear  that  your  want 
of  attention  and  politeness,  and  your  awkward  postures, 
require  it.  As  you  appear  desirous  to  get  rid  of  these  bad 
habits,  I  hope  you  will  soon  afford  no  room  for  ill-nature 
itself  to  find  fault  with  you  —  I  mean  in  these  particulars  ; 
for  as  to  what  regards  your  heart  and  motives  of  action,  I 
know  them  to  be  good,  amiable,  and  pure.  But  to  return 
to  the  subject  of  manners,  &c.  I  have  often  seen  Madame 
at  table,  and  other  situations,  pay  you  the  utmost  atten 
tion  ;  offer  you  twenty  civilities,  while  you  appeared 
scarcely  sensible  that  she  was  speaking  to  you ;  or,  at  the 
most,  replied  with  a  cold  remercie,  without  even  a  look  of 
satisfaction  or  complacency.  A  moment's  reflection  will 
convince  you  that  this  conduct  will  be  naturally  construed 
into  arrogance  ;  as  if  you  thought  that  all  attention  was  due 
to  you,  and  as  if  you  felt  above  showing  the  least  to  any 
body.  I  know  that  you  abhor  such  sentiments,  and  that 
you  are  incapable  of  being  actuated  by  them.  Yet  you 
expose  yourself  to  the  censure  without  intending  or  know 
ing  it.  I  believe  you  will  in  future  avoid  it.  Observe  how 
Natalie  replies  to  the  smallest  civility  which  is  offered  to 
her. 

Your  habit  of  stooping  and  bringing  your  shoulders 
forward  on  to  your  breast  not  only  disfigures  you,  but  is 
alarming  on  account  of  the  injury  to  your  health.  The 
continuance  in  this  vile  habit  will  certainly  produce  a  con 
sumption  :  then  farewell  papa ;  farewell  pleasure ;  farewell 
life  !  This  is  no  exaggeration ;  no  fiction  to  excite  your 
apprehensions.  But,  setting  aside  this  distressing  con 
sideration,  I  am  astonished  that  you  have  no  more  pride  in 
74 


Grave   Pages 

your  appearance.    You  will  certainly  stint  your  growth  and 
disfigure  your  person. 

Receive  with  calmness  every  reproof,  whether  made 
kindly  or  unkindly ;  whether  just  or  unjust.  Consider 
within  yourself  whether  there  has  been  no  cause  for  it. 
If  it  has  been  groundless  and  unjust,  nevertheless  bear  it 
with  composure,  and  even  with  complacency.  Remember 
that  one  in  the  situation  of  Madame  has  a  thousand  things 
to  fret  the  temper ;  and  you  know  that  one  out  of  humour, 
for  any  cause  whatever,  is  apt  to  vent  it  on  every  person 
that  happens  to  be  in  the  way.  We  must  learn  to  bear 
these  things  ;  and,  let  me  tell  you,  that  you  will  always  feel 
much  better,  much  happier,  for  having  borne  with  serenity 
the  spleen  of  any  one,  than  if  you  had  returned  spleen  for 
spleen. 

You  will,  I  am  sure,  my  dear  Theodosia,  pardon  two  such 
grave  pages  from  one  who  loves  you,  and  whose  happiness 
depends  very  much  on  yours.  Read  it  over  twice.  Make 
me  no  promises  on  the  subject.  On  my  return,  I  shall  see 
in  half  an  hour  whether  what  I  have  written  has  been  well 
or  ill  received.  If  well,  it  will  have  produced  an  effect. 

.  .  .  Having  many  letters  to  answer  by  this  mail,  I  can 
not  add  anything  sprightly  to  this  dull  letter.     One  dull 
thing  you  will  hear  me  repeat  without  disgust,  that 
I  am  your  affectionate  friend, 

A.  BURR 


The    puzzling   questions   of    curriculum   in    a   Select 
Female  Seminary          ^>      <^x      *o      <^      ^* 
MEDFORD,  May  12,  1797 

TJONORED  PARENTS, 

-*-  1     With   pleasure    I  sit  down  to  the  best  of  parents 

to   inform   them   of  my   situation,  as   doubtless  they  are 

75 


The  Friendly  Craft 

anxious  to  hear,  —  permit  me  to  tell  them  something  of 
my  foolish  heart.  When  I  first  came  here  I  gave  myself 
up  to  reflection,  but  not  pleasing  reflections.  When  Mr. 
Boyd  left  me  I  burst  into  tears  and  instead  of  trying  to 
calm  my  feelings  I  tried  to  feel  worse.  I  begin  to  feel 
happier  and  will  soon  gather  up  all  my  Philosophy  and 
think  of  the  duty  that  now  attends  me,  to  think  that  here 
I  may  drink  freely  of  the  fountain  of  knowledge,  but  I  will 
not  dwell  any  longer  on  this  subject.  I  am  not  doing 
anything  but  writing,  reading,  and  cyphering.  There  is  a 
French  Master  coming  next  Monday,  and  he  will  teach 
French  and  Dancing.  William  Boyd  and  Mr.  Wyman 
advise  me  to  learn  French,  yet  if  I  do  at  all  I  wish  you  to 
write  me  very  soon  what  you  think  best,  for  the  school 
begins  on  Monday.  Mr.  Wyman  says  it  will  not  take  up 
but  a  very  little  of  my  time,  for  it  is  but  two  days  in  the 
week,  and  the  lessons  only  2  hours  long.  Mr.  Wyman 
says  I  must  learn  Geometry  before  Geography,  and  that  I 
better  not  begin  it  till  I  have  got  through  my  Cyphering. 
We  get  up  early  in  the  morning  and  make  our  beds  and 
sweep  the  chamber,  it  is  a  chamber  about  as  large  as  our 
kitchen  chamber,  and  a  little  better  finished.  There^  4 
beds  in  the  chamber,  and  two  persons  in  each  bed,  we 
have  chocolate  for  breakfast  and  supper. 

Your  affectionate  Daughter 

ELIZA  SOUTHGATE 

Rufus  Choate  misses  his  boy         ^>     <^x     ^>      ^v 

MY     DEAR     RUFUS,  — Your     mother     and     dear 
sisters   have   you  so  far  away,  that  I  want  to  put 
my  own  arm  around  your  neck,  and  having  whispered  a 
little  in  your  ear,  give  you  a  kiss.     I  hope,  first,  that  you 
are  good ;  and  next  that  you  are  well  and  studious,  and 
among  the  best  scholars.     If  that  is  so,  I  am  willing  you 
76 


Motherly  Counsel 

should  play  every  day,  after,  or  out  of,  school,  till  the 
blood  is  ready  to  burst  from  your  cheeks.  There  is  a 
place  or  two,  according  to  my  recollections  of  your  time  of 
life,  in  the  lane,  where  real,  good,  solid  satisfaction,  in  the 
way  of  play,  may  be  had.  But  I  do  earnestly  hope  to  hear 
a  good  account  of  your  books  and  progress  when  I  get 

home.     Love    cousin    M ,    and  all    your    school   and 

playmates,  and  love  the  studies  which  will  make  you  wise, 
useful,  and  happy,  when  there  shall  be  no  blood  at  all  to 
be  seen  in  your  cheeks  or  lips. 

Your  explanation  of  the  greater  warmth  of  weather  here 
than  at  Essex,  is  all  right.  Give  me  the  sun  of  Essex, 
however,  I  say,  for  all  this.  One  half  hour,  tell  grand 
mother,  under  those  cherished  buttonwoods,  is  worth  a 
month  under  these  insufferable  fervors.  ...  I  hope  1 
shall  get  home  in  a  month.  Be  busy,  affectionate, 
obedient,  my  dear,  only  boy.  Your  father, 

RUFUS  CHOATE 

Mrs.  Gibbons  sends  love,  advice,  and  money  to  her 
son       <^      ^>      ^>      ^>y      <iv      ^>       <^x 

NEW  YORK,  $th  mo.  12,  1855 

MY  EVER  DEAR  WILL, 
I  have  only  time  to  say,  this  busy  Anniversary 
week,— look  after  thy  heart  and  do  not  lose  it  down 
East;  do  not  let  any  ruffian  throw  thee  over  the  Long 
Bridge  ;  do  not  grow  conservative  ;  take  care  of  thy  eyes  ; 
go  to  bed  early ;  wash  thy  lungs  out  in  the  morning  with 
fresh,  balmy  air ;  inhale  the  fragrance  of  May's  sweet 
flowers,  and  love  us  all  always. 

With  the  pure  gold  of  warmest  affection,  and  a  soiled 
banknote,  ever, 

Thy  devoted,  adoring  MOTHER 
77 


The  Friendly  Craft 

No  lovelorn  lassie  will  love  thee  with  all  her  love,  as  I 
do,  my  pride  and  blessing,  my  own  and  only  son.  May 
we  both  live  always! 

The  unprejudiced  opinions  of  a  grandmother  ^>    ^> 
(Mrs.  Benjamin  Franklin  to  her  husband,  Oct.  29,  1773) 

MY  DEAR  CHILD,  — I  have  bin  verey  much  distrest 
aboute  you  as  I  did  not  aney  letter  nor  one  word 
from  you  nor  did  I  hear  one  word  from  aney  bodey  that 
you  wrote  to  so  I  must  submit  and  inde  to  submit  to  what 
I  am  to  bair  I  did  write  by  Capt.  Folkner  to  you  but  he 
is  gon  down  and  when  I  read  it  over  I  did  not  like  t  and 
so  if  this  donte  send  it  I  shante  like  it  as  I  dont  send  you 
aney  news  now  I  donte  go  abrode. 

I  shall  tell  you  what  Consernes  my  selef  our  youngest 
Grand  so»  is  the  forced  child  as  a  live  he  has  had  the 
Small  Pox  and  had  it  very  fine  and  got  abrod  a  gen. 
Capt.  All  will  tell  you  aboute  him  and  Benj.  Franklin 
Beache,  but  as  it  is  so  dificall  to  writ  I  have  deserd  him 
to  tell  you.  ...  I  am  to  tell  a  verey  pritey  thing  about 
Ben  the  Players  is  cume  to  town  and  they  am  to  ackte  on 
Munday  he  wanted  to  see  a  play  he  unkill  Beache  had 
given  him  a  doler  his  mama  asked  him  wather  he  wold 
give  it  for  a  ticket,  or  buy  his  Brother  a  neckles  he  sed 
his  Brother  a  neckles  he  is  a  charmm  child  as  ever  was 
Borne  my  Grand  cheldren  are  the  Best  in  the  world 
Salley  will  write  I  cante  write  aney  mor  I  am  your  a 
feckshone  wife. 

D.  FRANKLIN 


The  Bouquet  of  Life 

The  advantages  of  being  a  grandfather     ^>    ^>    <^y 
(James  Russell  Lowell  to  Edwin  Lawrence  Godkin) 
ELMWOOD,  i6th/«/x,  1874 

S  for  my  grandson,  he  is  a  noble  fellow  and  does 
me  great  credit.  Such  is  human  nature  that  I  find 
myself  skipping  the  intermediate  generation  (which  certainly 
in  some  obscure  way  contributed  to  his  begetting,  as  I  am 
ready  to  admit  when  modestly  argued)  and  looking  upon 
him  as  the  authentic  result  of  my  own  loins.  I  am  going 
to  Southborough  to-day  on  a  visit  to  him,  for  I  miss  him 
woundily.  If  you  wish  to  taste  the  real  bouquet  of  life,  I 
advise  you  to  procure  a  grandson,  whether  by  adoption  or 
theft.  The  cases  of  child-stealing  one  reads  of  in  the 
newspapers  now  and  then  may  all,  I  am  satisfied,  be 
traced  to  this  natural  and  healthy  instinct.  A  grandson 
is  one  of  the  necessities  of  middle  life  and  may  be  inno 
cently  purloined  (or  taken  by  right  of  eminent  domain)  on 
the  tabula  in  naufragio  principle.  Get  one,  and  the 
Nation  will  no  longer  offend  any  body.  .  .  . 

Dr.  Channing  has  doubts  about  child  study    xo>-    *^ 
(To  Miss  Elizabeth  Peabody) 

INTENDED  to  write  you  a  long  letter,  but  my 
house  is  full  of  friends,  who  leave  me  no  leisure.    I 
thank  you  for  your  "  Record,11  which  I  read  with  great  pleas 
ure.    I  have  still  doubts  ;  but  the  end  sought  is  the  true  one, 
and  I  earnestly  desire  that  the  experiment  should  be  made. 
I  want  proof  that  the  minds  of  children  really  act  on 
the  subject  of  conversation,  that  their  deep  consciousness 
is  stirred.     Next,  I  want  light  as  to  the  degree  to  which 
the  mind  of  the   child  should   be   turned   inward.     The 
free  development  of  the  spiritual*  nature  may  be  impeded 
79 


I 


The  Friendly  Craft 

by  too  much  analysis  of  it.  The  soul  is  somewhat  jealous 
of  being  watched ;  and  it  is  no  small  part  of  wisdom  to 
ow  when  to  leave  it  to  its  impulses  and  when  to 
restrain  it.  The  strong  passion  of  the  young  for  the 
outward  is  an  indication  of  nature  to  be  respected.  Spir 
ituality  may  be  too  exclusive  for  its  own  good.  .  .  . 

Such  as  sit  in  darkness         ^>     ^^     ^>     ^y     ^> 
I 

(Laura  Bridgman  to  Samuel  Gridley  Howe) 

Twenty -eight  of  January  [1844] 

MY  VERY  DEAR  DR.  HOWE  : 
What  can  I  first  say  to  God  when  I  am  wrong? 
Would  he  send  me  good  thoughts  &  forgive  me  when  I 
am  very  sad  for  doing  wrong?  Why  does  he  not  love 
wrong  people,  if  they  love  Him  ?  Would  he  be  very  happy 
to  have  me  think  of  Him  &  Heaven  very  often?  Do  you 
remember  that  you  said  I  must  think  of  God  &  Heaven? 
I  want  you  to  please  to  answer  me  to  please  me.  I  have 
learned  about  great  many  things  to  please  you  very 
much.  Mrs.  Harrington  has  got  new  little  baby  eight 
days  last  Saturday.  God  was  very  generous  &  kind  to 
give  babies  to  many  people.  Miss  Rogers1  mother  has 
got  baby  two  months  ago.  I  want  to  see  you  very  much. 
I  send  much  love  to  you.  Is  God  ever  ashamed?  I  think 
of  God  very  often  to  love  Him.  Why  did  you  say  that  I 
must  think  of  God  ?  You  must  answer  me  all  about  it,  if 
you  do  not  I  shall  be  sad.  Shall  we  know  what  to  ask 
God  to  do?  When  will  He  let  us  go  to  see  him  in 
Heaven  ?  How  did  God  tell  people  that  he  lived  in 
Heaven?  How  could  he  take  care  of  folks  in  Heaven? 
Why  is  He  our  Father?  Why  cannot  He  let  wrong  peo 
ple  to  go  to  live  with  Him  &  be  happy?  Why  should  He 
80 


The  Spirit  of  Love 

not  like  to  have  us  ask  Him  to  send  us  good  thoughts  if 
we  are  not  very  sad  for  doing  wrong?  .  .  . 

II 
(Dr.  Howe  to  Laura  Bridgman) 

MY  DEAR  LITTLE  LAURA;  — Mrs.  Howe  has  a 
sweet  little  baby;  it  is  a  little  girl.  We  shall 
call  her  Julia.  She  is  very  smooth,  and  soft,  and  nice ; 
she  does  not  cry  much,  and  we  love  her  very,  very  much. 
You  love  her  too,  I  think,  do  you  not?  But  you  never 
felt  of  her,  and  she  never  kissed  you,  and  how  can  you 
love  her?  It  is  not  your  hands,  nor  your  body,  nor  your 
head,  which  loves  her  and  loves  me,  but  your  soul.  If 
your  hand  were  to  be  cut  off,  you  would  love  me  the  same ; 
so  it  is  not  the  body  which  loves.  Nobody  knows  what 
the  soul  is,  but  we  know  that  it  is  not  the  body,  and  cannot 
be  hurt  like  the  body ;  and  when  the  body  dies  the  soul 
cannot  die.  You  ask  me  in  your  letter  a  great  many  things 
about  the  soul,  and  about  God ;  but,  my  dear  little  girl,  it 
would  take  very  much  time  and  very  many  sheets  of  paper 
to  tell  you  all  I  think  about  it,  and  I  am  very  busy  with 
taking  care  of  my  dear  wife  ;  but  I  shall  try  to  tell  you  a 
little,  and  you  must  wait  until  I  come  home,  in  June,  and 
we  will  talk  very  much  about  all  these  things.  You  have 
been  angry  a  few  times,  and  you  have  known  others  to  be 
angry,  and  you  know  what  I  mean  by  anger ;  you  love  me 
and  many  friends,  and  you  know  what  I  mean  by  love. 
When  I  say  there  is  a  spirit  of  love  in  the  world,  I  mean 
that  good  people  love  each  other ;  but  you  cannot  feel  the 
spirit  of  love  with  your  fingers,  it  has  no  shape  nor  body; 
it  is  not  in  one  place  more  than  another,  yet  wherever 
there  are  good  people  there  is  a  spirit  of  love.  God  is  a 
spirit ;  the  spirit  of  love.  If  you  go  into  a  house,  and  the 
children  tell  you  that  their  father  whips  them,  and  will 
G  81 


The  Friendly  Craft 

not  feed  them ;  if  the  house  is  cold  and  dirty,  and  every 
body  is  sad  and  frightened,  because  the  father  is  bad,  and 
angry,  and  cruel,  you  will  know  that  the  father  has  no 
spirit  of  love.  You  never  felt  of  him,  you  never  had  him 
strike  you,  you  do  not  know  what  man  he  is,  and  yet  you 
know  that  he  has  not  the  spirit  of  love,  —  that  is,  he  is 
not  a  good,  kind  father.  If  you  go  into  another  house, 
and  the  children  are  all  warm,  and  well  fed,  and  well 
taught,  and  are  very  happy,  and  everybody  tells  you  that 
the  father  did  all  this,  and  made  them  happy,  then  you 
know  he  has  the  spirit  of  love.  You  never  saw  him,  and 
yet  you  know  certainly  that  he  is  good ;  and  you  may  say 
that  the  spirit  of  love  reigns  in  that  house.  Now,  my  dear 
child,  I  go  all  about  in  this  great  world,  and  I  see  it  filled 
with  beautiful  things  ;  and  there  are  a  great  many  millions 
of  people,  and  there  is  food  for  them,  and  fire  for  them, 
and  clothes  for  them,  and  they  can  be  happy  if  they  have  a 
mind  to  be.  and  if  they  will  love  each  other.  All  this  world, 
and  all  these  people,  and  all  the  animals,  and  all  things, 
were  made  by  God.  He  is  not  a  man,  nor  like  a  man  ;  I 
cannot  see  Him  nor  feel  Him,  any  more  than  you  saw  and 
felt  the  good  father  of  that  family ;  but  I  know  that  He 
has  the  spirit  of  love,  because  He,  too,  provided  everything 
to  make  all  the  people  happy.  God  wants  everybody  to 
be  happy  all  the  time,  —  every  day,  Sundays  and  all,  and 
to  love  one  another ;  and  if  they  love  one  another  they 
will  be  happy;  and  when  their  bodies  die,  their  souls  will 
live  on  and  be  happy,  and  then  they  will  know  more  about 
God. 

The  good  father  of  the  family  I  spoke  to  you  about,  let 
his  children  do  as  they  wished  to  do,  because  he  loved  to 
have  them  free  ;  but  he  let  them  know  that  he  wished 
them  to  love  each  other,  and  to  do  good;  and  if  they 
obeyed  his  will  they  were  happy  ;  but  if  they  did  not  love 
82 


The  Secret  of  Happiness 

each  other,  or  if  they  did  any  wrong,  they  were  unhappy ; 
and  if  one  child  did  wrong  it  made  the  others  unhappy 
too.  So  in  the  great  world.  God  left  men,  and  women, 
and  children,  to  do  as  they  wish,  and  let  them  know  if 
they  love  one  another,  and  do  good,  they  will  be  happy ; 
but  if  they  do  wrong  they  will  be  unhappy,  and  make 
others  unhappy  likewise. 

I  will  try  to  tell  you  why  people  have  pain  sometimes, 
and  are  sick  and  die ;  but  I  cannot  take  so  much  time  and 
paper  now.  But  you  must  be  sure  that  God  loves  you, 
and  loves  everybody,  and  wants  you  and  everybody  to  be 
happy ;  and  if  you  love  everybody,  and  do  them  all  the 
good  you  can,  and  try  to  make  them  happy,  you  will  be 
very  happy  yourself,  and  will  be  much  happier  after  your 
body  dies  than  you  are  now. 

Dear  little  Laura,  I  love  you  very  much.  I  want  you  to 
be  happy  and  good.  I  want  you  to  know  many  things  ; 
but  you  must  be  patient,  and  learn  easy  things  first,  and 
hard  ones  afterwards.  When  you  were  a  little  baby  you 
could  not  walk,  and  you  learned  first  to  creep  on  your 
hands  and  knees,  and  then  to  walk  a  little,  and  by  and  by 
you  grew  strong,  and  walked  much.  It  would  be  wrong 
for  a  little  child  to  want  to  walk  very  far  before  it  was 
strong.  Your  mind  is  young  and  weak,  and  cannot  under 
stand  hard  things  ;  but  by  and  by  it  will  be  stronger,  and 
you  will  be  able  to  understand  hard  things ;  and  I  and  my 
wife  will  help  Miss  Swift  to  show  you  all  about  things  that 
now  you  do  not  know.  Be  patient,  then,  dear  Laura ; 
be  obedient  to  your  teacher,  and  to  those  older  than  you ; 
love  everybody,  and  do  not  be  afraid. 

Good-bye.  I  shall  come  soon,  and  we  will  talk  and  be 
happy. 

Your  true  friend, 

DOCTOR 
83 


M 


The  Friendly  Craft 
III 

(Phillips  Brooks  to  Helen  Keller) 

LONDON,  August  3,  1890 

Y  DEAR  HELEN  —  I  was  very  glad  indeed  to  get 
your  letter.  It  has  followed  me  across  the  ocean 
and  found  me  in  this  magnificent  great  city  which  I  should 
like  to  tell  you  all  about  if  I  could  take  time  for  it  and 
make  my  letter  long  enough.  Some  time  when  you  come 
and  see  me  in  my  study  in  Boston  I  shall  be  glad  to  talk 
to  you  about  it  all  if  you  care  to  hear. 

But  now  I  want  to  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  that  you  are 
so  happy  and  enjoying  your  home  so  very  much.  I  can 
almost  think  I  see  you  with  your  father  and  mother  and 
little  sister,  with  all  the  brightness  of  the  beautiful  country 
about  you,  and  it  makes  me  very  glad  to  know  how  glad 
you  are. 

I  am  glad  also  to  know,  from  the  questions  which  you 
ask  me,  what  you  are  thinking  about.  I  do  not  see  how 
we  can  help  thinking  about  God  when  He  is  so  good  to  us 
all  the  time.  Let  me  tell  you  how  it  seems  to  me  that  we 
come  to  know  about  our  heavenly  Father.  It  is  from  the 
power  of  love  which  is  in  our  own  hearts.  Love  is  at  the 
soul  of  everything.  Whatever  has  not  the  power  of  lov 
ing  must  have  a  very  dreary  life  indeed.  We  like  to  think 
that  the  sunshine  and  the  winds  and  the  trees  are  able  to 
love  in  some  way  of  their  own,  for  it  would  make  us  know 
that  they  were  happy  if  we  knew  that  they  could  love. 
And  so  God  who  is  the  greatest  and  happiest  of  all  beings 
is  the  most  loving  too.  All  the  love  that  is  in  our  hearts 
comes  from  Him,  as  all  the  light  which  is  in  the  flowers 
comes  from  the  sun.  And  the  more  we  love  the  more 
near  we  are  to  God  and  His  Love. 
84 


Love  is  Everything 

I  told  you  that  I  was  very  happy  because  of  your  happi 
ness.  Indeed  I  am.  So  are  your  Father  and  your  Mother 
and  your  Teacher  and  all  your  friends.  But  do  you  not 
think  that  God  is  happy  too  because  you  are  happy  ?  I 
am  sure  He  is.  And  He  is  happier  than  any  of  us  because 
He  is  greater  than  any  of  us,  and  also  because  He  not 
merely  sees  your  happiness  as  we  do,  but  He  also  made  it. 
He  gives  it  to  you  as  the  sun  gives  light  and  color  to  the 
rose.  And  we  are  always  most  glad  of  what  we  not 
merely  see  our  friends  enjoy,  but  of  what  we  give  them  to 
enjoy.  Are  we  not  ? 

But  God  does  not  only  want  us  to  be  happy ;  He  wants 
us  to  be  good.  He  wants  that  most  of  all.  Pie  knows 
that  we  can  be  really  happy  only  when  we  are  good.  A 
great  deal  of  the  trouble  that  is  in  the  world  is  medicine 
which  is  very  bad  to  take,  but  which  it  is  good  to  take  be 
cause  it  makes  us  better.  We  see  how  good  people  may 
be  in  great  trouble  when  we  think  of  Jesus  who  was  the 
greatest  sufferer  that  ever  lived  and  yet  was  the  best  Being 
and  so,  T  am  sure,  the  happiest  Being  that  the  world  has 
ever  seen. 

I  love  to  tell  you  about  God.  But  He  will  tell  you  Him 
self  by  the  love  which  He  will  put  into  your  heart  if  you 
ask  Him.  And  Jesus,  who  is  His  Son,  but  is  nearer  to 
Him  than  all  of  His  other  Children,  came  into  the  world 
on  purpose  to  tell  us  all  about  our  Father's  Love.  If  you 
read  His  words,  you  will  see  how  full  His  heart  is  of  the 
love  of  God.  "  We  know  that  He  loves  us,"  He  says. 
And  so  He  loved  men  Himself  and  though  they  were  very 
cruel  to  Him  and  at  last  killed  Him,  He  was  willing  to 
die  for  them  because  He  loved  them  so.  And,  Helen, 
He  loves  men  still,  and  He  loves  us,  and  He  tells  us  that 
we  may  love  Him. 

And  so  love  is  everything.  And  if  anybody  asks  you, 
85 


The  Friendly  Craft 

or  if  you  ask  yourself  what  God  is,  answer,  "  God  is 
Love."  That  is  the  beautiful  answer  which  the  Bible 
gives. 

All  this  is  what  you  are  to  think  of  and  to  understand 
more  and  more  as  you  grow  older.  Think  of  it  now,  and 
let  it  make  every  blessing  brighter  because  your  dear 
Father  sends  it  to  you. 

You  will  come  back  to  Boston  I  hope  soon  after  I  do. 
I  shall  be  there  by  the  middle  of  September.  I  shall  want 
you  to  tell  me  all  about  everything,  and  not  forget  the 
Donkey. 

I  send  my  kind  remembrance  to  your  father  and  mother, 
and  to  your  teacher.  I  wish  I  could  see  your  little  sister. 

Good  Bye,  dear  Helen.  Do  write  to  me  soon  again, 
directing  your  letter  to  Boston. 

Your  affectionate  friend 

PHILLIPS  BROOKS 

V 

STUDENTS'   TALES 

Increase  Mather  considers  Harvard  College  too  small 
a  field  for  labor       ^>       -^x       -j>       ^>       ^^ 

("To   the  Honorable  William   Stoughton,   Esqr..  Lieut. 
Governour  of  the  Province  of  Massachusetts  Bay  ") 

HONOURABLE  SIR, 
I  promised  the  worthy  Gentlemen  who  acquainted 
me  with  the  Proposal  of  the  General  Court  concerning  the 
removal  of  my  Habitation  from  Boston  to  Cambridge,  that  I 
would  return  my  Answer  to  your  Honour.    In  the  first  place 
I  give  my  humble  Thanks,  as  to  the  General  Assembly,  so, 
in  a  special  maner,  to  the  honourable  Council,  and  to  your 
86 


1500  Souls  vs.   50  Children 

Honor  in  a  most  peculiar  maner,  for  the  Respect  in  this 
Motion  manifested.  Nevertheless,  as  to  the  thing  pro 
posed,  I  do  not  see  my  way  clear.  As  to  the  Salary,  I 
make  no  objection,  although  it  is  considerably  less  than 
what  I  have  in  Boston,  through  the  Love  and  bounty  of 
the  people  amongst  whom  God  hath  fixed  my  present 
abode.  But  the  objections  which  are  of  weight  with 
me  are  these;  — i.  If  I  comply  with  what  is  desired,  I 
shall  be  taken  off,  in  a  great  measure  at  least,  from  my 
publick  Ministry.  Should  I  leave  preaching  to  1500  souls 
(for  I  supose  that  so  many  use  ordinarily  to  attend  in  our 
Congregation)  only  to  expound  to  40  or  50  Children,  few  of 
them  capable  of  Edification  by  such  Exercises ;  I  doubt  I 
should  not  do  well.  I  desire  (as  long  as  the  Lord  shall  en 
able  me)  to  preach  publickly  every  Lord^  Day.  And  I 
think  all  the  Gold  in  the  East  and  West-Indies  would  not 
tempt  me  to  leave  preaching  the  Unsearchable  Riches  of 
Christ  ;  which  several  of  the  Presidents  of  the  Colledge 
were  necessitated  to  desist  from,  because  of  their  other 
work. 

2.  I  am  now  (through  the  patience  of  God)  grown  into 
years,  wanting  but  half  a  year  of  60,  and  of  a  weak  and 
tender   Constitution    of   Body,  not  well   able    to  endure 
the  Hardships  of  the  Presidentship.     A  younger  and  a 
stronger  man  would  do  better.     Invalids  vires  ingenium 
mihi. 

3.  I  have  laboured  much  both  in  New-England,  and  in 
England   to    obtain   a   hapy  settlement   of  the  Colledge. 
Should  I  at  last  go  thither  myself,  the  World  would  say, 
(as  I  hear  some  do  say)  that  I  sought  my  self  in  all  those 
Endeavours.     Such  Reproaches  will,  by  a  Resignation  of  my 
Relation  to  that  Society,  be  for  ever  put  to  Silence.     One 
reason  of  my  retaining  my  Relation  to  the  Colledge  thus 
long,  has  been  because  it  was  thought,  that  would  facilitate 

87 


The  Friendly  Craft 

its  Charter-Settlement.      Could  I  see  that  done,  I  should 
with  great  joy  give  way  to  another  President. 

4.  I  am  satisfied  that  the  Church  to  which  I  stand  re 
lated,  will  not  set  me  at  liberty.  Many  of  them  say  that 
God  has  made  me  their  Spiritual 'Father  ;  and  how  can  they 
consent  that  I  should  go  from  them  ?  Besides,  they  well 
know  that  I  have  had  a  strong  Bent  of  Spirit  to  spend  (and 
to  end)  the  remainder  of  my  few  days  in  England  ;  and 
that  the  thing  that  keeps  me  here,  now  the  Gospel  has  a 
free  passage  there,  is  my  Love  to  them  :  for  which  cause 
they  will  not  consent  to  my  being  discharg'd  of  my  Office- 
Relation,  without  which  I  must  not  remove  to  the  Colledge. 
For  it  is  not  fit  that  I  should  retain  an  Office  without 
Discharging  the  Duties  of  that  Office. 

I  neither  will,  nor  have  I  obstructed  the  settlement  of  the 
Colledge  in  a  better  hand.  I  have  often  (as  your  Honour 
well  knows)  desired  to  resign  my  Relation  to  that  Society. 
And  if  it  will  not  be  grevious  to  you,  I  shall  to-morrow 
(If  you  please)  deliver  a  Resignation  of  the  Presidentship 
to  the  Senior  Fellow  of  the  Corporation,  for  him  to  call  a 
Corporation-Meeting  in  order  to  the  causing  another  Presi 
dent.  And  let  the  Corporation  doe  as  they  would  doe  if  I 
were  out  of  the  World.  Thus,  sir,  have  I  taken  the  free 
dom  to  acquaint  you  with  my  present  Inclinations,  and 
with  the  Reasons  thereof,  which  I  cannot  answer.  Could  I 
see  them  well  answered  to  my  own  satisfaction  (but  of 
that  I  despair)  I  should  be  capable  of  changing  my  mind. 
Until  then,  and  ever,  I  remain 

Honourable  Sir, 

Yours  to  Serve 

INCREASE  MATHER 

Decembr  16,  1698. 


88 


The  Rising  Bell 

The  rules  and  routine  of  Nassau  Hall     *£y     *^>     *o 

Written   at  Nassau    Hall,    in    PRINCETON  Novem:   30^ 

Anno  1770 

VERY  DEAR  FATHER. 
Altho1  I  am  very  busy  seeing  I  begin  to  study  three 
Weeks  later  than  the  rest  of  our  Class,  yet  I  think  it  my 
Duty  to  give  you  Notice  of  my  Admission  to  this  flourish 
ing  Seminary  of  Learning ;  which  is  another  grand  Step 
towards  the  Summit  of  my  Wishes ;  And  I  shall  also  men 
tion  as  many  of  the  Customs,  as  my  short  Acquaintance 
with  the  College  &  Students  will  allow  me,  &  as  any  thing 
new  occurs  shall  not  fail  at  any  time  to  transmit  it. 

Mr.  Hunter  and  myself,  were  admitted  into  the  junior- 
Class  on  the  twenty  second  day  of  November,  after  a 
previous  Examination  by  the  president,  Tutors,  &  some 
residing  Graduates ;  Which  was  about  three  Weeks  after 
the  College-Orders  began. 

The  Rules  by  which  the  Sholars  &  Students  are  di 
rected,  are,  in  my  Opinion,  exceedingly  well  formed  to 
check  &  restrain  the  vicious,  &  to  assist  the  studious,  & 
to  countenance  &  incourage  the  virtuous. 

Every  Student  must  rise  in  the  Morning,  at  farthest  by 
half  an  hour  after  five  ;  the  grammar  Schollars  being  most 
of  them  small,  &  lodging  also  in  Town  at  some  Distance 
from  the  College,  are,  in  Winter,  excused  from  attending 
morning  Prayrs. 

The  Bell  rings  at  five,  after  which  there  is  an  Intermis 
sion  of  half  an  hour,  that  everyone  may  have  time  to 
dress,  at  the  end  of  which  it  rings  again,  &  Prayrs  begin; 
And  lest  any  should  plead  that  he  did  not  hear  the  Bell, 
the  Servant  who  rings,  goes  to  every  Door  &  beats  till 
he  wakens  the  Boys,  which  leaves  them  without  Excuse. 

There  are   Bill-keepers  in  each  Class,  appointed   gen- 
89 


The   Friendly  Craft 

erally  by  the  President,  or  in  his  absence  by  one  of  the 
Tutors,  who  take  Notice,  &  set  down  those  who  are  absent 
from  Morning  or  evening  Prayrs,  &  once  every  week  pre 
sent  their  Bill  to  the  Doctor,  or  one  of  the  Tutors,  who 
call  each  delinquent,  &  demand  their  Excuse,  which  if  it 
is  thought  sufficeant  is  accepted,  if  not  they  are  fined,  or 
privately  admonished,  &  if  the  same  person  is  found  fre 
quently  guilty,  without  good  reason,  he  receives  public 
Admonition  in  the  Hall  for  Contempt  of  Authority. 

After  morning  Prayrs,  we  can,  now  in  the  Winter,  study 
an  hour  by  candle  Light  every  Morning. 

We  breakfast  at  eight ;  from  Eight  to  nine,  is  time  of 
our  own,  to  play,  or  exercise. 

At  nine  the  Bell  rings  for  Recitation,  after  which  we 
study  till  one,  when  the  Bell  rings  for  Dinner — We  dine 
all  in  the  same  Room,  at  three  Tables,  &  so  we  breakfast 
and  sup : 

After  dinner  till  three  we  have  Liberty  to  go  out  at  Pleasure. 

From  three  til'  five  we  study,  when  the  Bell  rings  for 
evening  Prayrs. 

We  sup  at  seven ;  At  nine  the  Bell  rings  for  Study ; 
And  a  Tutor  goes  through  College,  to  see  that  every  Stu 
dent  is  in  his  own  Room  ;  if  he  finds  that  any  are  absent, 
or  more  in  any  Room  than  belongs  there,  he  notes  them 
down,  &  the  day  following  calls  them  to  an  Account. 

After  nine  any  may  go  to  bed,  but  to  go  before  is  re 
proachful. 

No  student  is  allowed,  on  any  pretence,  Sickness  only 
excepted,  to  be  absent  on  Sunday,  from  public  Worship : 
We  have  two  Sermons  every  Sabbath  :  One  at  eleven  in 
the  morning,  in  the  Church ;  &  the  other  at  three  in  the 
Afternoon,  in  the  College  Hall.  I  am  indeed  much  pleased 
with  Dr.  Witherspoon  &  think  his  Sermons  almost  inimi 
table. 

90 


Sabbath   Evening  Meetings 

We  rise  on  Sabbath  mornings  &  have  Prayrs  as  usual. 

There  is  a  Society  that  meets  every  Sabbath  Evening  at 
six  o  Clock,  for  religious  Worship ;  this  is  a  voluntary 
Society  made  up  of  any  who  belong  to  the  College,  & 
choose  to  attend. 

The  Exercises  in  this  Society  go  in  the  alphabetical 
Order  of  those  who  are  willing  to  perform :  They  sing  a 
Psalm  &  pray,  after  which  a  Tutor  reads  a  Sermon  & 
dismisses  them. 

About  seven  the  supper  Bell  rings,  immediately  after 
which,  each  Class  meets  separately  in  Rooms  belonging  to 
one  of  themselves ;  The  Seniors  alone  meet  in  a  Room 
belonging  to  one  of  the  Seniors ;  &  the  Juniors  by  them 
selves  meet  in  a  Room  belonging  to  one  of  themselves ;  & 
in  like  manner  do  the  inferior  Classes.  And  one  in  each 
Class,  as  his  Name  comes  in  alphabetical  Order,  gives  out 
a  Psalm  to  be  sung,  &  prays ;  after  which  they  disperse,  & 
retire  to  their  respective  Rooms. 

I  make  use  of  the  word  "  their "  not  because  I  do  not 
join  with  my  fellow-Stadents  in  these  Acts  of  Worship,  but 
because  I  seem  only  yet  to  be  an  Observer  of  their  Manners. 

There  are  upwards  of  an  hundred  now  in  the  College 
including  the  grammar  Scholars :  The  present  Senior 
Class  consists  of  Ten  :  the  Junior  of  twenty-eight :  The 
Sophimore  of  twenty  five:  And  the  Freshman  of  eighteen: 
In  the  School  there  are  about  twenty-five. 

I  am,  through  divine  goodness,  very  well,  &  more  rec 
onciled  to  rising  in  the  Morning  so  early  than  at  first. 

Andrew  is  not  yet  come.  I  fear  he  has  concluded  to 
stay  at  home. 

Please  to  accept  my  humble,  &  sincere  Regard ;  &  give 
my  kindest  Love  to  my  ever-dear  Mamma. 

From,  Sir,  your  dutiful  Son 

P.  FITHIAN 
91 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Philip   Fithian    discloses    the   "  Shameful,   mean,  un 
manly  Conduct  "  of  sundry  students    <^y   ^o   ^> 

Written  at  PRINCETON,  Jan.  13,  Anno  1772 

VERY  DEAR,  &  MUCH  RESPECTED  FATHER, 
Through  the  distinguished  Kindness  of  Heaven, 
I  am  in  good  Health,  &  have  much  Cause  to  be  delighted 
with  my  Lot.  I  would  not  change  my  Condition  nor 
give  up  the  Prospect  I  have  before  me,  on  any  Terms 
almost  whatever. 

I  am  not  much  hurried  this  Winter  with  my  Studies; 
but  I  am  trying  to  advance  myself  in  an  Acquaintance 
with  my  fellow-Creatures,  &  with  the  Labours  of  the 
"Mighty  Dead.11 

I  am  sorry  that  I  may  inform  you,  that  two  of  our 
Members  were  expelled  from  the  College  yesterday  ;  not  for 
Drunkenness,  nor  Fighting,  not  for  Swearing,  nor  Sabbath- 
Breaking.  But,  they  were  sent  from  this  Seminary,  where 
the  greatest  Pains  and  Care  are  taken  to  cultivate  and 
encourage  Decency,  &  Honesty,  &  Honour,  for  stealing 
Hens  I  Shameful,  mean,  unmanly  Conduct! 

If  a  Person  were  to  judge  of  the  generality  of  Students, 
by  the  Conduct  of  such  earth-born,  insatiate  Helluo's ; 
or  by  the  detested  Character  of  wicked  Individuals,  (which 
is  generally  soonest  &  most  extensively  propagated  & 
known  abroad,)  how  terrible  an  Idea  must  he  have! 

Please  to  remember  my  kind  Regards  to  my  Brothers  ; 
Sister  Becka,  and  the  whole  Family.  I  feel  my  Heart 
warm  with  Esteem  for  them !  but  can  only  further,  at 
present,  write  myself,  dear  Father,  Yours, 

P.  FITHIAN 


92 


The  President's   Pears 

William  H.  Prescott  eats  pears  and  appears  very  well 
while  being  examined   ^^>    ^x    <^>    ^>   «o   x^y 

BOSTON,  Aug.  23,  [1811] 

DEAR  FATHER, 
I  now  write  you  a  few  lines  to  inform  you  of  my 
fate.  Yesterday  at  eight  o'clock  I  was  ordered  to  the 
President's,  and  there,  together  with  a  Carolinian,  Mid- 
dleton,  was  examined  for  Sophomore.  When  we  were 
first  ushered  into  their  presence,  they  looked  like  so  many 
judges  of  the  Inquisition.  We  were  ordered  down  into 
the  parlor,  almost  frightened  out  of  our  wits,  to  be 
examined  by  each  separately ;  but  we  soon  found  them 
quite  a  pleasant  sort  of  chaps.  The  President  [Dr.  Kirk- 
land]  sent  us  down  a  good  dish  of  pears,  and  treated  us 
very  much  like  gentlemen.  It  was  not  ended  in  the 
morning ;  but  we  returned  in  the  afternoon,  when  Profes 
sor  Ware  examined  us  in  Grotius  de  Veritate,  We  found 
him  very  good-natured,  for  I  happened  to  ask  him  a 
question  in  theology,  which  made  him  laugh  so  that  he 
was  obliged  to  cover  his  face  with  his  hands.  At  half 
past  three  our  fate  was  decided,  and  we  were  declared 
"  Sophomores  of  Harvard  University.11 

As  you  would  like  to  know  how  I  appeared,  I  will  give 
you  the  conversation,  verbatim,  with  Mr.  Frisbie,  when 
I  went  to  see  him  after  the  examination.  I  asked  him, 
"  Did  I  appear  well  in  my  examination?'1  Answer.  "Yes." 
Question.  "Did  I  appear  very  well,  Sir?"  Answer. 
"Why  are  you  so  particular,  young  man?  Yes,  you  did 
yourself  a  great  deal  of  credit." 

I  feel  to-day  twenty  pounds  lighter  than  I  did  yesterday. 

I  shall  dine  at  Mr.   Gardiner's.     Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gardiner 

both  say  that  on  me  depends  William's  going  to  college 

or  not.     If  I   behave  well,  he   will   go ;    if  not,    that   he 

93 


The  Friendly  Craft 

certainly  shall  not  go.  Mr.  W.  P.  Mason  has  asked  me 
to  dine  with  him  on  Commencement  Day,  as  he  gives 
a  dinner.  I  believe  I  shall  go.  As  I  had  but  little  time, 
I  thought  it  best  to  tell  a  long  story,  and  write  it  badly, 
rather  than  a  short  one  written  well.  I  have  been  to  see 

Mr.    H this    morning;  —  no    news.      Remember   me 

to  your  fellow-travellers,  C,  &  M.,  &c.,  &c.  Love  to 
mother,  whose  affectionate  son  I  remain, 

WM.  HICKLING  PRESCOTT 

The  strenuous  life  of  a  Harvard  law  student  extolled 
by  Francis  Parkman     ^>      <^>      ^y      ^^x      ^s> 

(To  George  B.  Gary) 

CAMBRIDGE,  Dec.  15,  '44 

DEAR  GEORGE,  — Here  am  I,  down  in  Divinity 
Hall  ( !)  enjoying  to  my  heart's  content  ihatotium  cum 
dignitate  which  you  so  affectionately  admire ;  while  you, 
poor  devil,  are  being  jolted  in  English  coaches,  or  suffering 
the  cramp  in  both  legs  on  the  banquette  of  a  French 
diligence.  Do  you  not  envy  me  in  my  literary  ease  ?  — 
a  sea-coal  fire — a  dressing-gown  —  slippers — a  favorite 
author ;  all  set  off  by  an  occasional  bottle  of  champagne, 
or  a  bowl  of  stewed  oysters  at  Washburn's  ?  This  is  the 
cream  of  existence.  To  lay  abed  in  the  morning,  till  the 
sun  has  half  melted  away  the  trees  and  castles  on  the 
window-panes,  and  Nigger  Lewis's  fire  is  almost  burnt  out, 
listening  meanwhile  to  the  steps  of  the  starved  Divinities 
as  they  rush  shivering  and  panting  to  their  prayers  and 
recitations  —  then  to  get  up  to  a  fashionable  breakfast  at 
eleven  —  then  go  to  lecture  —  find  it  a  little  too  late,  and 
adjourn  to  Joe  Peabody's  room,  for  a  novel,  conversation, 
and  a  morning  glass  of  madeira —  while  you  are  puckering 
your  lips  over  bad  vin  ordinaire  in  a  splendid  cafe,  and 
94 


Ambition  is  a  Humbug 

screaming  garden  in  vain  hope  of  relief.  If  I  am  not 
mistaken,  George,  this  is  leading  a  happier  life,  by  your 
own  showing,  than  to  be  encountering  the  hard  knocks  and 
vexations  of  a  traveller's  existence.  After  all,  man  was 
made  to  be  happy;  ambition  is  a  humbug  —  a  dream  of 
youth ;  and  exertion  another ;  leave  those  to  Freshmen 
and  divinities.  I  think  the  morbid  tendency  to  unnecessary 
action  passes  away  as  manhood  comes  on  ;  at  any  rate,  I 
have  never  been  half  so  quiescent  as  since  I  was  qualified 
to  vote  against  Polk  and  Dallas. 

.  .  .  And  now,  what  are  you  doing;  a  cup  of  coffee 
at  Very's,  perhaps  ;  then  a  lounge,  quizzing  glass  at  eye,  in 
the  Louvre,  followed  by  a  ditto  on  the  Italian  Boulevard, 
and  a  fifty-franc  dinner  at  the  Trois  Freres.  What 
supplement  shall  I  add  to  this  ?  You  will  not  be  sorry,  I 
dare  say,  to  hear  a  word  of  some  brethren  of  your  nodes 
ainbrosiancE,  though  I  imagine  those  noctcs  do  not  now 
appear  very  ambrosial  on  the  retrospect.  Hale  vibrates 
between  Law  and  Gospel.  I  fear  the  chances  are  a  little 
in  favor  of  the  Devil. 

Snow  is  established  in  Graduates1  Hall,  with  two  pianos, 
Shelley,  and  a  half-cask  of  ale.  He  now  and  then  appears 
at  the  one  o'clock  lecture,  rubbing  his  eyes  and  gaping. 
Clarke  is  here,  taking  boxing  lessons.  Ned  is  in  town,  a 
counter-jumper  by  day,  and  a  literary  character  by  night ; 
on  the  way  to  make  a  very  sensible  and  accomplished  man. 
Perry  has  been  hunting  deer  and  killing  partridges,  and 
would  fain  persuade  a  quiet  fellow  like  me  to  leave  Cam 
bridge  and  join  him ;  but  I  preferred  a  pleasant  fireside. 
Old  TreadweU  is  splashing  about  in  the  muddy  waters  of 
politics  and  law.  Our  brothers,  whilom  of  XX,  accused 
me  in  the  beginning  of  the  term  of  an  intention  of  author 
ship  !  probably  taking  the  hint  from  the  circumstance  of 
my  never  appearing  till  eleven  o'clock,  a  la  Scott ;  but  I 
95 


The  Friendly  Craft 

believe  they  no  longer  suspect  me  of  so  ill  advised  an 
intention.  It  would  run  a  little  counter  to  my  present 
principles,  though  I  do  remember  the  time  when  G.  B.  C. 

meditated  the  Baron  of  B ;  and  Snow  felt  sure  (in  his 

cups)  of  being  Captain  General  of  Transatlantic  literature, 
while  your  humble  servant's  less  soaring  ambition  aspired 
to  the  manufacture  of  blood  and  thunder  chronicles  of 
Indian  squabbles  and  massacres.  .  .  .  You  will  answer  this, 
will  you  not?  I  am  very  eager  to  hear  from  you. 

Yours  truly, 

F.  PARKMAN 

Ulysses    Grant    likes    West   Point   in    spite  of  draw 
backs        <<^>        <^v         -*^y         ^^       <^y         ^^x        -*^y        *^> 

MILITARY  ACADEMY,  WEST  POINT,  N.Y., 
September 22,  1839 

DEAR  COZ :  I  was  just  thinking  that  you  would  be 
right  glad  to  hear  from  one  of  your  relations  who  is  so 
far  away  as  I  am.  So  I  have  put  away  my  algebra  and 
French,  and  am  going  to  tell  you  a  long  story  about  this 
prettiest  of  places,  West  Point.  So  far  as  it  regards 
natural  attractions  it  is  decidedly  the  most  beautiful  place 
that  I  have  ever  seen.  Here  are  hills  and  dales,  rocks  and 
rivers  ;  all  pleasant  to  look  upon.  From  the  window  near 
I  can  see  the  Hudson  —  that  far-famed,  that  beautiful 
river,  with  its  bosom  studded  with  hundreds  of  snowy 
sails. 

Again,  I  look  another  way  I  can  see  Fort  Putt,  now 
frowning  far  above,  a  stern  monument  of  a  sterner  age, 
which  seems  placed  there  on  purpose  to  tell  us  of  the 
glorious  deeds  of  our  fathers,  and  to  bid  us  to  remember 
their  sufferings  —  to  follow  their  example. 
96 


Sounds  Very   Nice 

In  short,  this  is  the  best  of  places  —  the  PLACE  of  all 
PLACES  for  an  institution  like  this.  I  have  not  told  you 
HALF  its  attractions.  Here  is  the  house  Washington  used 
to  live  in  —  there  Kosisuscko  used  to  walk  and  think  of 
HIS  country  and  OURS.  Over  the  river  we  are  shown  the 
dwelling-house  of  Arnold  —  that  BASE  and  HEARTLESS 
traitor  to  his  country  and  his  God.  I  do  love  the  PLACE 
—  it  seems  as  though  I  could  live  here  forever,  if  my 
friends  would  only  come  too.  You  might  search  the 
wide  world  over  and  then  not  find  a  better.  Now  all  this 
sounds  nice,  very  nice ;  what  a  happy  fellow  you  are,  but 
I  am  not  one  to  show  false  colors,  or  the  brightest  side  of 
the  picture,  so  I  will  tell  you  about  some  of  the  DRAWBACKS. 
First,  I  slept  for  two  months  upon  one  single  pair  of 
blankets.  Now  this  sounds  romantic,  and  you  may  think 
it  very  easy ;  but  I  tell  you  what,  Coz,  it  is  tremendous 
hard. 

Suppose  you  try  it,  by  way  of  experiment,  for  a  night  or 
two.  I  am  pretty  sure  that  you  would  be  perfectly  satisfied 
that  it  is  no  easy  matter ;  but  glad  am  I  these  things  are 
over.  We  are  now  in  our  quarters.  I  have  a  splendid 
bed  (mattress)  and  get  along  very  well.  Our  pay  is 
nominally  about  twenty-eight  dollars  a  month,  but  we 
never  see  one  cent  of  it.  If  we  wish  anything,  from  a 
shoe-string  to  a  coat,  we  must  go  to  the  commandant  of 
the  post  and  get  an  order  for  it,  or  we  cannot  have  it. 
We  have  tremendous  long  and  hard  lessons  to  get,  in  both 
French  and  algebra.  I  study  hard  and  hope  to  get  along 
so  as  to  pass  the  examination  in  January.  This  examina 
tion  is  a  hard  one,  they  say ;  but  I  am  not  frightened  yet. 
If  I  am  successful  here  you  will  not  see  me  for  two  long 
years.  It  seems  a  long  while  to  me,  but  time  passes  of! 
very  fast.  It  seems  but  a  few  days  since  I  came  here.  It 
is  because  every  hour  has  its  duty,  which  must  be  per- 
H  97 


The  Friendly  Craft 

formed.  On  the  whole  I  like  the  place  very  much  —  so 
much  that  I  would  not  go  away  on  any  account.  The  fact 
is,  if  a  man  graduates  here,  he  is  safe  for  life,  let  him  go 
where  he  will.  There  is  much  to  dislike,  but  more  to  like. 
I  mean  to  study  hard  and  stay  if  it  be  possible  ;  if  I  cannot, 
very  well,  the  world  is  wide.  I  have  now  been  here  about 
four  months,  and  have  not  seen  a  single  familiar  face  or 
spoken  to  a  single  lady.  I  wish  some  of  the  pretty  girls  of 
Bethel  were  here,  just  so  I  might  look  at  them.  But 
fudge!  confound  the  girls.  I  have  seen  great  men,  plenty 
of  them.  Let  us  see :  General  Scott,  Mr.  Van  Buren, 
Secretary  of  War  and  Navy,  Washington  Irving,  and  lots 
of  other  big  bugs.  If  I  were  to  come  home  now  with  my  uni 
form  on,  the  way  you  would  laugh  at  my  appearance  would 
be  curious.  My  pants  set  as  tight  to  my  skin  as  the  bark 
to  tree,  and  if  I  do  not  walk  military,  —  that  is,  if  I  bend 
over  quickly  or  run,  —  they  are  apt  to  crack  with  a  report 
as  loud  as  a  pistol.  My  coat  must  always  be  buttoned  up 
tight  to  the  chin.  It  is  made  of  sheep:s  gray  cloth,  all 
covered  with  big  round  buttons.  It  makes  one  look  very 
singular.  If  you  were  to  see  me  at  a  distance,  the  first 
question  you  would  ask  would  be,  "  Is  that  a  fish  or  an 
animal  ?  "  You  must  give  my  very  best  love  and  respects 
to  all  my  friends,  particularly  your  brothers,  uncles  Ross 
and  Samuel  Simpson.  -  You  must  also  write  me  a  long 
letter  in  reply  to  this,  and  tell  me  about  everything  and 
everybody,  including  yourself.  If  you  happen  to  see  any 
of  my  folks,  just  tell  them  that  I  am  happy,  alive  and  well. 
I  am  truly  your  cousin  and  obedient  servant, 

U.  H.  GRANT 

MCKINSTRY  GRIFFITH 

N.B.     In  coming  I  stopped  five  days  in  Philadelphia 
with  our  friends.     They  are  all  well.     Tell  Grandmother 
98 


Unrepublican  Churchgoing 

Simpson  that  they  always  have  expected  to  see  her  before, 
but  have  almost  given  up  the  idea  now.  They  hope  to 
hear  from  her  often. 

U.  H.  GRANT 

I  came  near  forgetting  to  tell  you  about  our  demerit  or 
"  black  marks.11  They  give  a  man  one  of  these  "  black 
marks  11  for  almost  nothing,  and  if  he  gets  two  hundred  a 
year  they  dismiss  him.  To  show  how  easy  one  can  get 
these,  a  man  by  the  name  of  Grant,  of  this  State,  got  eight 
of  these  "  marks  "  for  not  going  to  church.  He  was  also 
put  under  arrest  so  he  cannot  leave  his  room  perhaps  for 
a  month;  all  this  for  not  going  to  church.  We  are  not 
only  obliged  to  go  to  church,  but  must  march  there  by 
companies.  This  is  not  republican.  It  is  an  Episcopal 
church.  Contrary  to  the  expectation  of  you  and  the*  rest 
of  my  Bethel  friends,  I  have  not  been  the  least  homesick. 
I  would  not  go  home  on  any  account  whatever.  When  I 
come  home  in  two  years  (if  I  live),  the  way  I  shall  astonish 
you  natives  will  be  curious.  I  hope  you  will  not  take  me 
for  a  baboon.  .  .  . 

Gottingen  as  seen  by  the  first  American  students  ^> 

I 
(George  Ticknor  to  Elisha  Ticknor) 

GOTTINGEN,  November  18,  1815 

F  I  desired  to  teach  anybody  the  value  of  time,  I 
would  send  him  to  spend  a  semestre  at  Gottingen. 
Until  I  began  to  attend  the  lectures,  and  go  frequently  into 
the  streets,  I  had  no  idea  of  the  accuracy  with  which  it  is 
measured  and  sold  by  the  professors.  Every  clock  that 
strikes  is  the  signal  for  four  or  five  lectures  to  begin  and 
99 


r 


The  Friendly  Craft 

four  or  five  others  to  close.  In  the  intervals  you  may  go 
into  the  streets  and  find  they  are  silent  and  empty  ;  but  the 
bell  has  hardly  told  the  hour  before  they  are  filled  with 
students,  with  their  portfolios  under  their  arms,  hastening 
from  the  feet  of  one  Gamaliel  to  those  of  another,  —  gen 
erally  running  in  order  to  save  time,  and  often  without  a 
hat,  which  is  always  in  the  way  in  the  lecture-room.  As 
soon  as  they  reach  the  room,  they  take  their  places  and 
prepare  their  pens  and  paper.  The  professor  comes  in 
almost  immediately,  and  from  that  time  till  he  goes  out, 
the  sound  of  his  disciples  taking  notes  does  not  for  a 
instant  cease.  The  diligence  and  success  with  which  they 
do  this  are  very  remarkable.  One  who  is  accustomed  to 
the  exercise,  and  skilful  in  it,  will  not  only  take  down  every 
idea  of  the  professor,  but  nearly  every  word;  and,  in  this 
land  of  poverty,  lectures  are  thus  made  to  serve  as  a  kind 
of  Lancastrian  education  in  the  high  branches  of  letters 
and  science. 

About  two  minutes  before  the  hour  is  completed,  the 
students  begin  to  be  uneasy  for  fear  they  shall  lose  the 
commencement  of  the  next  lecture  they  are  to  attend ;  and 
if  the  professor  still  goes  on  to  the  very  limit  of  his  time 
they  make  a  noise  of  some  kind  to  intimate  that  he  is  in 
truding  on  his  successor,  and  the  hint  is  seldom  unsuccess 
ful.  Eichhorn,  who  has  a  great  deal  of  enthusiasm  when 
he  finds  himself  in  the  midst  of  an  interesting  topic,  some 
times  asks,  with  irresistible  good-nature,  for  "another 
moment,  —  only  a  moment,"  and  is  never  refused,  though 
if  he  trespasses  much  beyond  his  time,  a  loud  scraping 
compels  him  to  conclude,  which  he  commonly  does  with  a 
joke.  The  lecture-room  is  then  emptied,  the  streets  again 
filled,  to  repeat  the  same  process  in  other  halls. 

Just  so  it  is  in  the  private  instruction  I  receive.  At 
eight  o'clock  I  go  to  Benecke,  and  though  in  three  months 
100 


German-  Student's'*'.    ,    .     -j  i  /;, 

and  a  half  I  have  never  missed  a  lesson  or  been  five  min 
utes  tardy,  I  have  seldom  failed  to  find  him  waiting  for  me. 
At  the  striking  of  nine,  I  must  make  all  haste  away,  for  the 
next  hour  is  as  strictly  given  to  somebody  else.  At  five 
P.M.,  I  go  to  Schultze  for  my  Greek  lesson.  As  I  go  up 
stairs  he  can  hear  me,  and,  five  times  out  of  six,  I  find 
him  looking  out  the  place  where  I  am  to  recite.  The  clock 
strikes  six,  and  he  shuts  up  the  book.  From  the  accuracy 
with  which  time  is  measured,  what  in  all  other  languages 
is  called  a  lesson  is  called  in  German  "  an  hour.1'  You  are 
never  asked  if  you  take  lessons  of  such  a  person,  but 
whether  you  take  "  hours  "  of  him.  .  .  . 

II 

(George  Bancroft  to  Jane  Bancroft) 

GOTTINGEN,  April  14,  1819 

T  is  a  strange  world  we  live  in,  and  full  of  more 
things  than  are  dreamt  of  in  your  philosophy. 
My  life  on  it,  you  have  not  formed  a  conception  of  a  set 
of  beings  like  the  German  students.  I  remember  even  now 
the  first  time  that  I  saw  a  party  of  them  collected  and 
I  believed  never  to  have  seen  any  of  my  fellow  beings 
so  rough,  uncivilized,  and  without  cultivation.  They  are 
young,  and  therefore  wild  and  noisy  —  live  chiefly  among 
themselves,  without  mixing  in  society,  and  are  therefore 
careless  in  their  deportment,  awkward  and  slovenly.  Many 
of  them  wear  mustachios,  a  thing  almost  unknown  in 
America,  and  all  of  them  make  themselves  vile  by  a  Beard, 
dirty  and  monstrous.  Scarcely  one  of  them  uses  a  hat,  but 
instead  of  it  a  cap  which  sometimes  can  scarcely  be  distin 
guished  from  a  night  cap.  This  business  of  wearing  only 
an  apology  for  a  hat  I  find  so  exceedingly  convenient,  that 
101 


I 


:,    ,The  ;Fxiendly   Craft 

I  have  fallen  into  it.  When  the  scholars  are  assembled 
for  a  lecture  the  collection  of  unpleasant  odours  is  pro 
digious,  and  until  the  professor  enters  the  room  there  is 
a  great  noise  of  whistling,  talking  and  disputing,  all  which 
however  is  instantly  hushed  on  sight  of  the  Professor 
though  generally  wound  up  by  a  short  but  violent  hiss. 
This  hiss  is  only  a  signal  for  order  and  tranquility.  When 
silence  is  thus  put  in  possession  of  the  throne  the  pro 
fessor  begins.  ...  If  a  professor  read  a  moment  after 
the  hour  has  struck,  be  he  who  he  may,  the  oldest  and 
most  learned,  even  Eichhorn  himself,  a  curious  scene  of 
riot  ensues.  First  the  students  shut  up  their  books  ;  i.e. 
slam  them  together,  the  next  step  is  to  stop  writing  and 
put  up  their  paper,  if  this  do  not  avail,  they  take  their 
inkstands  and  strike  the  benches  most  vehemently,  and 
then  begin  kicking  the  floor.  All  this  happens  in  half  a 
minute  and  the  professor  is  always  brought  to  reason 
before  the  minute  is  completed.  It  is  however  very  seldom 
the  case  that  any  one  overreaches  beyond  his  time.  You 
will  from  this  get  an  idea  of  the  manner  in  which  a  lecture 
in  general  is  heard.  On  great  occasions  something  ex 
traordinary  must  be  done.  So  for  instance  if  Eichhorn 
sneeze,  every  scholar  in  the  room,  or  at  least  the  larger 
number,  begins  drumming  with  the  feet,  or  beating  the 
floor,  as  if  trying  its  strength.  I  asked  the  reason  of  this 
strange  procedure,  and  was  told  it  implied  as  much  as 
God  bless  you.  If  a  Professor  speaks  so  fast  that  it  is 
difficult  to  follow  him  in  writing  down  what  he  says,  they 
begin  to  scrape  with  their  feet ;  the  floor  being  sandy  and 
the  feet  moving  with  rapidity,  it  produces  a  very  grating 
and  interrupting  noise  —  the  same  is  done  on  all  occasions 
whatsoever  when  the  instructor  displeases  his  audience. 
This  language  of  the  feet  when  put  into  words,  signifies 
thou  art  an  ass. 

102 


Absolute,  Actual  Noise 

It  is  the  custom  in  Gottingen  for  every  man  who  can, 
to  make  jests  in  his  lectures,  and  for  every  man  who 
cannot  to  attempt  it.  When  a  good  one  is  made,  they 
clatter  with  their  feet  in  token  of  approbation.  The  same 
happens  at  the  end  of  any  lecture  that  has  been  particu 
larly  good  ;  and  also  at  the  end  of  the  term  when  the 
lectures  are  closed.  On  this  occasion  the  students  under 
take  to  demonstrate  their  love  for  the  favourite  professors ; 
and  the  degree  of  love  entertained  for  a  Professor  is 
measured  by  the  degree  of  noise,  absolute  actual  noise 
which  is  made  and  which  often  lasts  several  minutes  and 
can  be  heard  as  you  may  well  suppose  no  inconsiderable 
distance.  Is  this  information  enough  of  the  blessed  hu 
man  beings  among  whom  I  live  ?  .  .  . 

How  Theodore  Parker  obtained  his  education         *^> 
(To  James  B.  Patterson) 

BOSTON,  Feb.  28,  1855 
kEAR  YOUNG  FRIEND,—  I  am  the  person  you  met 


D1 


in  the  cars,  and  parted  from  at  Albany.  I  sought 
you  in  the  cars,  but  in  the  dim  light  I  failed  to  find  you. 
I  took  a  good  deal  of  interest  in  the  bright  young  face, 
looking  so  pure  and  hopeful,  and  thinking  that  some  five- 
and-twenty  years  ago  I  was  on  the  same  road  that  you  are 
now.  I  am  sorry  that  you  have  met  with  the  "  misfor 
tune11  you  refer  to.  It  certainly  casts  a  shade  over  a 
young  man's  prospects  for  the  moment,  not  for  the  day. 
You  have  a  good  start  thus  far,  and  seem  to  have  laid  the 
foundation  well.  It  will  be  no  misfortune  in  the  end  that 
you  must  get  your  own  education.  It  will  bring  out  the 
deep  manly  elements  at  an  earlier  period  ;  will  make  you 
more  thoughtful  when  you  would  else  have  been  more 
gamesome  and  playful.  If  you  are  a  teacher  you  can  find 
103 


S  The  j  Friendly  Craft 

much  time  to  study  by  yourself.  I  began  to  teach  when 
seventeen  years  old,  and  continued  it  for  four  winters, 
working  at  home  on  my  father's  farm  in  the  other  parts 
of  the  year.  I  always  found  from  eight  to  ten  hours  a  day 
for  study,  beside  the  work  hours  in  school ;  then  I  taught 
a  high  school  for  three  years  more,  and  kept  far  ahead  of 
the  class  in  college  of  which  I  was  a  (nominal)  member. 
You  can  do  all  that,  and  perhaps  more. 

Perhaps  it  will  be  well  to  pursue  the  same  studies  you 
would  have  taken  at  college ;  with  the  addition  of  such 
as  belong  to  your  calling  as  teacher,  or  you  may  perhaps 
teach  till  you  accumulate  money  enough  to  go  through 
college  at  a  later  date.  No  good  thing  is  impossible  to  a 
serious  and  earnest  young  man  with  good  abilities  and 
good  moral  principles. 

But  above  all  things  be  careful  of  your  health ;  your 
success  depends  on  a  sound  body.  Do  not  violate  the 
laws  which  God  writes  in  these  tables  of  flesh. 

Let  me  know  where  you  go  and  what  you  find  to  do 
and  I  will  write  you  again  when  more  at  leisure. 

Truly  your  friend, 

THEO.  PARKER 

Three  letters  on  a  common  subject        ^>     x^     x^y 

I 

MARSHFIELD,  Sep.  8,  1838 

MY  DEAR  SON. 
Your    letter,   respecting    your    private   affairs,    has 
caused  me  very  great  grief.     I  am  shocked,  not  only  at  the 
folly  &  guilt  of  contract'g  such  a  debt,  but   at  the  mis 
representations  which  you  must  have  repeatedly  made  ;  as 
you  have  always  told  me  that  you  owed  noth'g,  which  the 
means   I    furnished   were    not    competent    to    discharge. 
104 


The  Whole  Truth 

Your  letter  has  remained  several  days,  unanswered,  be 
cause  I  had  not  made  up  my  mind  what  answer  to  give. 
My  first  feeling  was  to  withdraw  you  from  College,  &  to 
let  you  take  care  of  yourself  hereafter.  But  your  letter 
shows  an  apparent  spirit  of  repentance,  &  if  I  were  sure 
that  I  could  trust  that,  I  might  be  induced  to  overlook  the 
enormity  of  your  misconduct.  But  how  can  I  be  sure  that 
you  have  now  told  me  the  whole  truth  ?  How  can  I  trust 
your  present  statements  ?  Besides,  how  was  this  debt 
created  ?  Was  it  by  gaming,  or  other  immoral  habits,  or 
by  mere  thoughtlessness,  &  folly  ? 

I  have  concluded  to  go  up  to  Boston,  tomorrow  or  next 
day;  &  then,  either  to  go  directly  to  Hanover,  or  to  write 
you  again.  In  the  mean  time  I  want  to  know  more  about 
the  manner  of  contract'g  this  debt;  &  I  expect  the  whole 
truth.  I  would  not  expose  you  to  public  reproach,  nor 
cast  you  off,  for  slight  cause ;  but  with  all  my  affection,  I 
will  not  excuse  misconduct,  and,  especially,  I  will  not  put 
up  with  any  degree  or  particle  of  misrepresentation,  or  con 
cealment  of  the  truth.  On  the  receipt  of  this,  you  will 
immediately  write  to  me,  directed  to  Boston  ;  &  when  I 
receive  your  letter,  I  shall  determine  what  course  to  pursue. 
Your  affectionate,  but  distressed  father, 

DANL.  WEBSTER 

II 
HANOVER  [N.  H.],  Sept.  13,  1838 

MY  DEAR  FATHER. 
I  received    your  letter  yesterday.      I   was   aware 
that  it  could  not  but  grieve  you  very  much,  and  that  was 
the  reason  I  never  told  you  before  and  also  made  the  mis 
representations  which  you  speak  of.     And  sir  I  can  quiet 
your  fears  about  my  repentance  not  being  real  and  affected, 
for  I  certainly  do  feel  very  sorry  and  penitent  and  you  may 
105 


The  Friendly  Craft 

rest  assured  that  the  like  will  never  occur  again.  You  wish 
to  know  how  the  debts  were  contracted.  I  will  tell  you 
the  truth  now.  You  say  that  you  don't  know  but  it  was 
by  gaming  ?  It  was  not,  for  I  never  gambled  for  a  cent  in 
my  life,  nor  do  I  think  I  ever  shall,  for  I  never  could  have' 
been  led  away  as  far  as  that  if  any  one  had  tried  me,  for  I 
detest  the  practice  and  always  did.  A  good  deal  is  for 
such  things  as  nuts  &  raisins,  crockery,  cigars,  candy, 
pantaloons,  chip  men,  backgammon  boards,  knife  and 
some  wine  a  very  little  of  which  I  can  say  with  a  clear 
conscience  I  drank  myself,  riding  on  horseback  and  other 
ways  for  pleasure,  and  I  am  sorry  to  say  very  few  of  the 
articles  were  of  any  use.  The  only  immoral  thing  that  I 
have  purchased  is  wine,  the  students  with  whom  most  of 
these  debts  were  contracted  have  graduated,  so  that  there 
would  not  be  the  same  temptations  if  I  would  yield  to  them, 
which  by  the  help  of  a  firm  resolve  I  hope  I  never  shall. 

I  should  be  very  sorry  to  be  taken  away  from  college, 
but  if  you  think  best  I  should  be  willing  to  go,  with  the 
education  you  have  been  kind  enough  to  give  me  and  my 
bodily  strength  I  feel  I  should  be  able  to  take  care  of  my 
self.  If  I  do  not  improve  upon  trial  I  do  not  wish  nor  ask 
for  any  further  indulgence,  and  as  to  the  money  part  of  it 
if  by  any  means  by  keeping  school  or  in  other  way  I  could 
make  that  up  to  you  in  a  measure  or  in  full  I  should  be 
most  happy  to  do  so,  and  remain  my  dear  Father  your 
most  affectionate  and  deeply  penitent  son, 

EDWARD  WEBSTER 

III 

BOSTON,  Sep.  21,  1838 

MY  DEAR  SON. 
I  reed  your  letter,  two  days  ago,  and  have  made 
up  my  mind  to  put  intire  trust  in  your  statements  —  to 
106 


No  Haste  to   Reply 

clear  off  your  embarrassments — &  to  give  you  a  fair  op 
portunity  to  retrieve  whatever  may  have  been  amiss ;  &  to 
resume  your  studies. 

I  now  trust,  My  Dear  Son,  to  hear  nothing  of  you,  here 
after,  except  what  may  be  gratifying.  [D.  W.] 

Lyman  Beecher  is  disturbed  about  his  son  Edward's 
condition         -^^       *^>       ^>       ^>       ^^v       <^v 

June  22,  1820 

YOUR  learned  (Latin)  letter,  with  much  deterio 
ration  of  chirography,  came  safe  to  hand.     As 
money  was  the  most  urgent  point  of  concern,  and  I  had 
none,  and  can  get  none,  I  was  in  no  haste  to  reply. 

The  books  for  which  you  subscribed  you  must  decline 
to  take,  if  they  will  let  you  off.  I  cannot  buy  even  the 
most  necessary  books  for  my  own  use ;  and  our  economy 
must  be  absolutely  close  and  constant,  or  I  shall  be  obliged 
to  take  you  from  college.  I  say  this,  not  because  you 
are  prodigal,  but  because  it  is  literally  true,  as  you  must 
know  from  knowing  what  my  resources  are,  and  what 
my  expenses.  The  books  you  need  you  may  get  at 
H  —  's  ;  second-hand  books,  if  you  can  find  them  in  good 
preservation. 

The  money  necessary  to  your  present  use  I  shall  send 
as  soon  as  I  can  get  any ;  until  which,  those  you  owe  must 
do  as  I  do,  wait,  and  you  must  do  as  I  do,  endure  the 
mortification  of  telling  them  so.  Your  clothes  you  will 
please  tie  up  in  a  pocket-handkerchief  and  send  home  to 
be  washed,  and  returned  the  same  week.  Send  them  on 
Monday,  and  they  will  be  returned  on  Friday.  I  have 
contracted  with  Parks,  the  stage-driver,  to  bring  and 
return  them.  This  arrangement  will  save  four  dollars 
and  more. 

107 


The  Friendly  Craft 

William  has  been  greatly  afflicted  by  the  death  of  his 
fellow-clerk,  Andrew  Burr,  and  is  much  awakened  and 
alarmed  concerning  his  own  condition  as  a  sinner.  He 
wrote  me  a  letter  entreating  me  to  pray  for  him.  I 
exchanged  with  Mr.  Elliott,  and  saw  him.  I  believe  the 
Holy  Spirit  is  striving  with  him,  and  that  he  has  some 
conviction  of  sin ;  but  he  fears,  as  I  do,  that  it  may  pass 
off  without  a  saving  change,  which  may  God  avert  by  the 
merciful  interposition  of  His  saving  grace.  One  child  out 
of  danger  would  give  me  joy  to  which  I  am  yet  a  stranger, 
and  relieve  the  sickness  of  heart  occasioned  by  hope 
deferred.  .  .  . 

I  shall  not  cease  to  pray,  my  dear  son,  for  your  conver 
sion,  nor  to  deplore  the  mighty  ruin  which  all  your  capaci 
ties  and  improvements  will  constitute  in  another  world, 
should  they  continue  under  the  dominion  of  a  heart 
unsanctified  and  unreconciled  to  God.  With  all  your 
gettings,  get  wisdom.  So  expects,  and  entreats,  and  prays 
your  affectionate  father.  I  think  you  have  never  spoken 
to  me  of  your  feelings  on  the  subject  of  religion  in  any  of 
your  letters.  I  hope  you  do  not  feel  reluctant  to  do  it, 
that  I  may  both  know  how  to  pray  and  to  counsel,  and 
may  also  find  excitement  to  pray  for  you.  .  .  . 

VI 

LOVERS  AND   FRIENDS 
"  The  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  is  dead  "      <^y     ^^ 

I 

MY   DEARE    HUSBAND, —  I   knowe   not   how  to 
expresse  my  love   to   thee   or  my  desyres  of  thy 
wished  welfayre,  but   my  hart   is  well   known  e   to   thee, 
108 


Thinges  Goe  Well 

which  will  make  relation  of  my  affections  though  they  be 
smalle  in  appearance :  my  thoughts  are  nowe  on  our  great 
change  and  alteration  of  our  corce  heare,  which  I  beseech 
the  Lord  to  blesse  us  in,  &  my  good  Husband  cheare  up 
thy  hart  in  the  expectacion  of  Gods  goodnesse  to  us,  &  let 
nothinge  dismay  or  discorage  thee ;  if  the  Lord  be  with  us 
who  can  be  against  us :  my  grefe  is  the  feare  of  stayinge 
behinde  thee,  but  I  must  leave  all  to  the  good  providence 
of  God.  I  thank  the  Lord  wee  are  all  heare  in  reasonable 
good  health,  I  receved  a  letter  since  you  went  from  my 
sonne  John,  wch  brout  good  Nuse  from  Nue  E  :  I  pray 
thanke  him  for  it,  I  wil  rite  to  him  if  I  have  time,  &  thus 
with  my  best  respect  to  thy  selfe,  brother  &  sister  D :  I 
commit  you  to  God  and  rest 

Your  fay th full  wife 

MARGARET  WINTHROPE 


D 


II 
("ffor  Mrs.  Winthrop  at  Boston") 

EARE  {torn~\,  —  \  am  still  detayned  from  thee,  but  it 
is  by  the  Lord,  who  hath  a  greater  interest  in  me 
than  thy  selfe,  when  his  worke  is  donne  he  will  restore  me 
to  thee  againe  to  or  mutuall  comfort:  Amen.  I  thanke 
thee  for  thy  sweet  Lre :  my  heart  was  wth  thee  to  have 
written  to  thee  everye  daye,  but  businesse  would  not 
permitt  me.  I  suppose  thou  hearest  much  newes  from 
hence :  it  may  be,  some  grievous  to  thee :  but  be  not 
troubled,  I  assure  thee  thinges  goe  well,  &  they  must  needs 
doe  so,  for  God  is  wth  us  &  thou  shalt  see  a  happy  issue. 
I  hope  to  be  wth  thee  to  morrowe  &  a  frende  or  2 :  I  sup 
pose.  So  I  kisse  my  sweet  wife  £  rest 

Thine  Jo:  WINTHROP 

This  6:  daye. 

109 


The  Friendly  Craft 
ill 

(From  John  Winthrop) 

Y  SWEET  WIFE,  —  I  prayse  God   I  am  in  good 
health,  peace  be  to   thee  £  or  familye,  so  I  kisse 
thee,  &  hope  shortly  to  see  thee :  farewell.  .  .  . 


M 


M 


IV 
(From  John  Winthrop) 

Y  SWEET  WIFE,  — So  fitt  an  occasio  must  not 
passe  wthout  a  token  to  thee.  I  prayse  God  I  am 
well :  the  Lo :  blesse  thee  &  all  o!;,  so  I  kisse  thee  the 
second  tyme,  farewell. 

A  Puritan  posey  :  "  The  Letter  which  the  Author  sent 
with  this  Discourse  ['  Experiments  of  Spiritual 
Life  &  Health,  and  their  Preservatives ']  to  his 
Wife  M.  IV.  upon  her  recovery  from  a  dangerous 
sicknesse "  ^^v  ^>  *^x  ^^>  -s^  ^> 

(From  Roger  Williams,  1652) 

MY    DEAREST   LOVE   AND    COMPANION  in 
this  Vale  of  Tears. 

Thy  late  sudden  and  dangerous  Sicknesse,  and  the  Lords 
most  gracious  and  speedy  raising  thee  up  from  the  gates 
andjawes  of  Death  :  as  they  were  wonderfull  in  thine  own, 
and  others  eyes,  so  I  hope,  and  earnestly  desire,  they  may 
be  ever  in  our  thoughts,  as  a  warning  from  Heaven  to 
make  ready  for  a  sudden  call  to  be  gone  from  hence :  to 
live  the  rest  of  our  short  uncertaine  span,  more  as 
strangers,  longing  and  breathing  after  another  Home  and 
Country  ;  To  cast  off  our  great  cares  and/^r^  and  desires 
no 


A  Little  Posey 

and  joyes  about  this  Candle  of  this  vaine  life,  that  is  so 
soon  blowne  out,  and  to  trust  in  the  living  God,  of  whose 
wonderful!  power  and  mercy  thou  hast  had  so  much  and 
so  late  experience,  which  must  make  thee  sing  with  David 
(Psal.  103.)  Blesse  the  Lord  O  my  Soul,  and  all  that  is 
'within  me  blesse  his  holy  Name :  Blesse  the  Lord,  O  my 
Soul,  and  forget  not  all  his  benefits,  who  forgiveth  all  thy 
sins,  and  healeth  thine  infirmities ;  who  redeemeth  thy  life 
from  destruction,  andcrowneth  thee  with  mercy  and  loving 
kindnesse. 

My  dear  Love,  since  it  pleaseth  the  Lord  so  to  dispose 
of  me,  and  of  my  affairs  at  present,  that  I  cannot  often  see 
thee,  I  desire  often  to  send  to  thee.  I  now  send  thee  that 
which  I  know  will  be  sweeter  to  thee  than  the  Honey  and 
the  Honey-combe,  and  stronger  refreshment  than  the  strong 
est  wines  or  waters,  and  of  more  value  than  if  every  line 
and  letter  were  thousands  of  gold  and  silver.  Hezekiah 
upon  his  recovery  from  his  sicknesse,  made  a  writing 
(/sat.  38.)  as  an  everlasting  monument  of  \w$>  praise  unto 
God,  and  as  a  Goad  or  spur  to  himself e  and  others  in  the 
wayes  of  godlinesse  for  the  future. 

Thy  holy  and  humble  desires  are  strong,  but  I  know  thy 
writing  is  slow,  and  that  thou  wilt  gladly  accept  of  this 
my  poore  helpe,  which  with  humble  thankfulnesse  and  praise 
to  the  Lord,  I  humbly  tender  to  his  holy  service,  and  thine 
in  him. 

I  send  thee  (though  in  Winter}  an  handfull  of  flowers 
made  up  in  a  little  Posey,  for  thy  dear  selfe,  and  our  dear 
children,  to  look  and  smell  on,  when  I  as  the  grasse  of  the 
field  shall  be  gone,  and  withered.  .  .  . 


Ill 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Judge  Sewall  offers  himself  to  Madam  Gibbs  <^y 

("To  Mrs.  Mary  Gibbs,  Widow,  at  Newtown, 
Jan*  I2»>  1711") 

MADAM,  your  Removal  out  of  Town,  and  the  Severity 
of  the  Winter,  are  the  reason  of  my  making  you  this 
Epistolary  Visit.  In  times  past  (as  I  remember)  you  were 
minded  that  I  should  marry  you,  by  giving  you  to  your 
desirable  Bridegroom.  Some  sense  of  this  intended  Re 
spect  abides  with  me  still ;  and  puts  me  upon  enquiring 
whether  you  be  willing  that  I  should  Marry  you  now,  by 
becoming  your  Husband  ;  Aged,  and  feeble,  and  exhausted 
as  I  am,  your  favourable  Answer  to  this  Enquiry,  in  a  few 
Lines,  the  Candor  of  it  will  much  oblige,  Madam,  your 
humble  Serv* 
MADAM  GIBBS.  S.  S. 

But  does  not  propose  to  pay  her  debts  "^     -^     '^ 
("To  Mrs.  Mary  Gibbs  at  Newtown") 

Feb\  10*  \-j\\ 

MADAM,  these  are  kindly  to  salute  you,  and  to  say,  that 
the  Omission  of  Answering  one  or  two  of  my  Letters, 
and  of  coming  to  Town,  makes  it  needful  for  me  to  enquire, 
what  the  plain  meaning  of  your  Letter  of  Jany  30*?  may  be. 
"  I  do  chuse  to  comply  with  your  last  proposal,  of  Releas 
ing  my  children,  and  Accepting  of  the  sum  you  proposed." 
The  last  Proposal  was,  For  your  children,  or  some  in 
their  behalf,  to  give  Bond  to  indemnify  me  from  all  debts 
contracted  by  you  before  the  Marriage ;  and  from  all  mat 
ters  respecting  the  Administration.  This  I  told  you,  I 
peremptorily  insisted  on.  I  was  to  secure  you  Forty 
pounds  per  anum  during  the  term  of  your  natural  Life,  in 
case  of  your  Survival. 

112 


Published  At  Last 
• 

This  proposal  must  be  taken  entirely,  every  part  of  it  to 
gether.  And  if  the  words  Releasing  my  Children,  intend 
a  Releasing  them  from  this  Bond,  my  last  Proposal  is  not 
accepted  by  you ;  and  my  Letter  of  Febr.  the  sixth,  rests 
upon  a  mistaken  foundation.  I  would  prevent  Misunder 
standing,  and  therefore  I  thus  write ;  praying  an  Answer 
as  soon  as  conveniently  can  be.  My  Service  to  Madam 
Cotton.  I  am,  Madam,  your  humble  servant,  S.  S. 

The  Judge  and  Madam  Gibbs  are  finally  published  ^> 
("To  Mrs.  Mary  Gibbs  at  Newton,  Feb.  16,  17! 2") 

MADAM,  Possibly  you  have  heard  of  our  Publish 
ment  *  last  Thorsday,  before  now.  It  remains,  for 
us  to  join  together  in  fervent  Prayers,  without  ceasing,  that 
God  would  graciously  Crown  our  Espousals  with  his  Bless 
ing.  A  good  Wife,  and  a  good  Husband  too,  are  from  the 
Lord.  I  am  bound  as  far  as  Deacon  Brewer's  to-day.  The 
Council  sits  in  the  Afternoon  next  Monday.  And  I  am  to 
wait  on  the  Committee  of  the  Overseers  of  the  College 
next  Tuesday  the  20^  Inst.  Please  to  accept  of  Mr. 
Mitchell  Sermons  of  Glory,  which  is  inclosed.  With  my 
Service  to  Madam  Cotton,  I  take  leave,  who  am,  Madam, 
your  humble  Serv* .  S.  S. 

George  Washington  salutes  Martha  Custis        '^    ^^ 

July  20,  1758 

.  .  .  "I  T  7E  have  begun  our  march  for  the  Ohio.  A 
V  V  courier  is  starting  for  Williamsburg,  and  I 
embrace  the  opportunity  to  send  a  few  words  to  one  whose 
life  is  now  inseparable  from  mine.  Since  that  happy 
hour  when  we  made  our  pledges  to  each  other,  my  thoughts 

1  The  publishing  of  the  banns  of  matrimony. 
I  113 


The  Friendly  Craft 

have  been  continually  going  to  you  as  another  Self.  That 
an  all-powerful  Providence  may  keep  us  both  in  safety  is 
the  prayer  of  your  ever  faithful  and  affectionate  friend.  .  .  . 

John  Hancock  sends  a  letter  of  remonstrance  and  a 
box  of  presents  to  Dorothy  Quincy    '\>   ^>  x^y 

PHILAD'A,  loth  June,  1775 

MY  DR.  DOLLY:  I  am  almost  prevaiPd  on  to 
think  that  my  letters  to  my  Aunt  &  you  are  not 
read,  for  I  cannot  obtain  a  reply,  I  have  ask'd  million 
questions  &  not  an  answer  to  one,  I  beg'd  you  to  let  me 
know  what  things  my  Aunt  wanted  &  you,  and  many  other 
matters  I  wanted  to  know,  but  not  one  word  in  answer.  I 
Really  Take  it  extreme  unkind,  pray  my  Dr-  use  not  so 
much  Ceremony  &  Reserved  ness,  why  can't  you  use  free 
dom  in  writing,  be  not  afraid  of  me,  I  want  long  Letters. 
I  am  glad  the  little  things  I  sent  you  were  agreeable. 
Why  did  you  not  write  me  of  the  top  of  the  Umbrella. 
I  was  sorry  it  was  spoiled,  but  I  will  send  you  another  by 
my  Express  wch  will  go  in  a  few  days.  How  did  my  Aunt 
like  her  gown,  &  do  let  me  know  if  the  Stockings  suited 
her;  she  had  better  send  a  pattern  shoe  £  stocking,  I 
warrant  I  will  suit  her.  The  Inclos'd  letter  for  your  Father 
you  will  read,  &  seal  £  forward  him,  you  will  observe  I 
mention  in  it  your  writing  your  Sister  Katy  about  a  few 
necessaries  for  Katy  Sewall,  what  you  think  Right  let  her 
have  &  Roy  James,  this  only  between  you  and  I ;  do  write 
your  Father  I  should  be  glad  to  hear  from  him,  &  I  Beg, 
my  Dear  Dolly,  you  will  write  me  often  &  long  Letters.  I 
will  forgive  the  past  if  you  will  mend  in  future.  Do  ask 
my  Aunt  to  make  me  up  £  send  me  a  Watch  String,  &  do 
you  make  up  another  &  send  me,  I  wear  them  out  fast.  I 
want  some  little  thing  of  your  doing. 
114 


All  To  Be  Worn 

Remember  me  to  all  Friends  with  you  as  if  nanVd.  1 
am  call'd  upon  &  must  obey. 

I  have  sent  you  by  Docr  Church  in  a  paper  Box 
Directed  to  you,  the  following  things,  for  your  acceptance, 
&  which  I  do  insist  you  wear,  if  you  do  not,  I  shall  think 
the  Donor  is  the  objection  : 

2  pair  white  silk     "I  stockings  which 
4  pr.  white  thread  J I  think  will  fit  you 
I  pr.  Black  Satin          1  shoes,  the  other 
i  p.  Black  Calem  Co. /Shall  be  sent  when  done, 
i  very  pretty  light  Hat. 

1  neat  Airy  Summer  Cloak.     (I  ask  Docr.  Church) 

2  caps 

i  Fann 

I  wish  these  may  please  you,  I  shall  be  gratified  if  they 
do,  pray  write  me,  I  will  attend  to  all  your  Commands. 

Adieu  my  Dr  Girl,  and  believe  me  to  be  with  great 
Esteem  &  Affection. 

Yours  without  Reserve, 

JOHN  HANCOCK 
Remember  me  to  Katy  Brackett. 

John  Adams  greets  his  wife,  and  desires  her  presence 
here  and  hereafter    ^>    ^^    x^>    ^>     -cy    ^^> 

PHILADELPHIA,  i  January,  1795 

MY  DEAREST  FRIEND, 
I  wish  you  a  happy  new  year,  and  a  repetition  of 
happy  new  years  as  long  as  time  shall  endure ;  not  here 
below,  because  I  shall  want  you  in  another  country,  better 
than  this.   .   .   . 


The  Friendly  Craft 

"The  shadow  and  the  light"          ^v     ^>     ^>     ^> 

(Two  letters  from  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  to   Sophia 
Peabody) 

I 

SALEM,  Nov.  27,  1840 

DEAREST,—  .  .  .  Whenever  I  return  to  Salem,  I 
feel  how  dark  my  life  would  be  without  the  light 
that  you  shed  upon  it,  —  how  cold,  without  the  warmth 
of  your  love.  Sitting  in  this  chamber,  where  my  youth 
wasted  itself  in  vain,  I  can  partly  estimate  the  change  that 
has  been  wrought.  It  seems  as  if  the  better  part  of  me  had 
been  born  since  then.  I  had  walked  those  many  years  in 
darkness,  and  might  so  have  walked  through  life,  with  only 
a  dreamy  notion  that  there  was  any  light  in  the  universe,  if 
you  had  not  kissed  my  eyelids  and  given  me  to  see.  You, 
dearest,  have  always  been  positively  happy.  Not  so  I, — • 
I  have  only  not  been  miserable.  Then  which  of  us  has 
gained  the  most  ?  I,  assuredly !  When  a  beam  of  heavenly 
sunshine  incorporates  itself  with  a  dark  cloud,  is  not  the 
cloud  benefited  more  than  the  sunshine?  Nothing  at  all 
has  happened  to  me  since  I  left  you.  It  puzzles  me  to 
conceive  how  you  meet  with  so  many  more  events-  than  I. 
You  will  have  a  volume  to  tell  me,  when  we  meet,  and  you 
will  pour  your  beloved  voice  into  my  ears  in  a  long  stream ; 
at  length  you  will  pause  and  say,  "  But  what  has  your  life 
been  ? "  and  then  will  stupid  I  look  back  upon  what  I  call 
my  life,  for  three  or  four  days  past,  and  behold,  a  blank  ! 

I  am  enduring  my  banishment  here  as  best  I  may ;  me- 
thinks,  all  enormous  sinners  should  be  sent  on  pilgrimage  to 
Salem,  and  compelled  to  spend  a  length  of  time  there,  pro 
portioned  to  the  enormity  of  their  offences.  Such  punish 
ment  would  be  suited  to  crimes  that  do  not  quite  deserve 
116 


Sinless  Eve 

hanging,  yet  are  too  aggravated  for  State's  Prison.  Oh, 
naughty  I !  If  it  be  a  punishment,  I  deserve  to  suffer  a  life 
long  infliction  of  it,  were  it  only  for  slandering  my  native 
town  so  vilely.  But  any  place  is  strange  and  lonesome  to 
me  where  you  are  not ;  and  where  you  are,  any  place  will  be 
home.  I  ought  to  love  Salem  better  than  I  do ;  for  the 
people  have  always  had  a  pretty  generous  faith  in  me,  ever 
since  they  knew  me  at  all.  I  fear  I  must  be  undeserving 
of  their  praise,  else  I  should  never  get  it.  What  an  ungrate 
ful  blockhead  am  I !  .  .  . 

God  bless  you,  you  sinless  Eve  !  .  .  . 


I 


II 

SALEM,  Sept.  3,  1841 

HAVE  been  out  only  once,  in  the  daytime,  since 
my  arrival.  How  immediately  and  irrecoverably 
(if  you  did  not  keep  me  out  of  the  abyss)  should  I  relapse 
into  the  way  of  life  in  which  I  spent  my  youth  !  If  it  were 
not  for  you,  this  present  world  would  see  no  more  of  me  for 
ever.  The  sunshine  would  never  fall  on  me,  no  more  than 
on  a  ghost.  Once  in  a  while  people  might  discern  my 
figure  gliding  stealthily  through  the  dim  evening,  —  that 
would  be  all.  I  should  only  be  a  shadow  of  the  night ;  it  is 
you  that  give  me  reality,  and  make  all  things  real  for  me.  If, 
in  the  interval  since  I  quitted  this  lonely  old  chamber,  I 
had  found  no  woman  (and  you  were  the  only  possible  one) 
to  impart  reality  and  significance  to  life,  I  should  have  come 
back  hither  ere  now,  with  a  feeling  that  all  was  a  dream 
and  a  mockery.  Do  you  rejoice  that  you  have  saved  me 
from  such  a  fate  ?  Yes  ;  it  is  a  miracle  worthy  even  of  you, 
to  have  converted  a  life  of  shadows  into  the  deepest  truth 
by  your  magic  touch.  .  .  . 


117 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Charles  Loring  Brace  thinks  of  his  wife    ^*    -^y    •^ 
[STRATFORD-ON-AVON]  Sunday,  June  25th.  [1865] 

DEAREST  WIFE  :  I  was  thinking  to-day  in  the  old 
church  of  you  —  of  your  wonderful  unselfishness 
and  richness  of  love  and  spirituality  of  nature,  and  how 
you  would  be  to  me  when  we  had  entered  the  unseen  — 
as  if  you  would  be  nearer  God  than  I,  and  I  would  see  you 
in  a  purer  light  and  much  higher  than  here,  and  whether 
you  would  be  my  helper  there,  and  of  how  sweet  and  good 
you  are  here,  and  how  elevated  sometimes  you  seem  when 
near  to  God,  and  what  a  treasure  your  love  was,  and  all 
such  pleasant  thoughts.  Yesterday  we  were  in  an  old 
chapel  of  the  Warwicks  in  Warwick,  and  there  were  two 
effigies  side  by  side,  hand  and  hand,  of  some  old  Warwick 
and  his  wife.  Together  they  had  fought  the  great  battle, 
and  then  were  laid  to  rest  together,  and  four  hundred 
years  had  surged  over  the  silent  tomb,  not  much  effacing 
it.  How  much  I  miss  you !  I  am  better  with  you,  less 
disturbed.  May  God  bless  and  keep  you  ever  !  .  .  . 

As  does  also  William  H.  Prescott    <^y     ^Qy     ^>    ^^x 

ANTWERP,  July  23,  1850 
SUSAN,  I  never  see  anything  beautiful  in 


D 


nature  or  art,  or  hear  heart-stirring  music  in  the 
churches,  the  only  place  where  music  does  stir  my  heart, 
without  thinking  of  you,  and  wishing  you  could  be  by  my 
side,  if  only  for  a  moment.  .  .  . 

Your  affectionate  husband, 

WM.  H.  PRESCOTT 


118 


I 


A   Musical   Love  Letter 

Music  is  Love  in  search  of  a  word  "     ^>     *^y     ^> 
(Sidney  Lanier  to  his  wife) 

NEW  YORK,  September  28,  1871 

AM  just  come  from  St.  Paul's  Church,  where  I 
went  at  eleven  this  morning,  by  invitation  of 
Mr.  John  Cornell,  to  hear  some  music  composed  by  him 
for  the  organ  and  trombone ;  not  the  old  slide-in-and-out 
trombone,  but  a  sort  of  baritone  cornet-a-pistons,  of  rare, 
mellow,  yet  majestic  tone.  This  was  played  by  one  of 
Theo.  Thomas'  orchestra.  The  pieces  were  a  funeral 
march,  a  religious  air,  and  a  cornet-piece.  Hadst  thou 
been  with  me  to  hear  these  horn-tones,  so  pure,  so  noble, 
so  full  of  confident  repose,  striking  forth  the  melody  in 
midst  of  the  thousandfold  modulations  (in  which  Cornell 
always  runs  riot),  like  a  calm  manhood  asserting  itself 
through  a  multitude  of  distractions  and  discouragements 
and  miseries  of  life, — hadst  thou  been  there,  then  how 
fair  and  how  happy  had  been  my  day. 

For  I  mostly  have  great  pain  when  music,  or  any  beauty, 
comes  past  my  way,  and  thou  art  not  by.  Perhaps  this  is 
because  music  takes  us  out  of  prison,  and  I  do  not  like 
to  leave  prison  unless  thou  goest  also. 

For  in  the  smile  of  love  my  life  cometh  to  life,  even  as  a 
flower  under  water  gleameth  only  when  the  sun-ray 
striketh  down  thereon.  .  .  . 

An  itinerant  courtship  decorously  pursued       xo>     ^> 
(From  Eliza  Southgate) 

SALEM,  September  9,  1802 

MY  DEAREST  MOTHER: 
Once  more  I  am  safe  in  Salem  and  my  first  thoughts 
turn  toward  home.  ...     I  have  received  more  attentions 
119 


The   Friendly  Craft 

at  the  Springs  than  in  my  whole  life  before.  I  know  not 
why  it  was,  but  I  went  under  every  advantage.  Mr.  Derby 
is  so  well  known  and  respected,  and  they  are  such  charm 
ing  people  and  treated  me  with  so  much  affection,  it  could 
not  be  otherwise  !  Among  the  many  gentlemen  I  have  be 
come  acquainted  and  who  have  been  attentive,  one  I  be 
lieve  is  serious.  I  know  not,  my  dearest  Mother,  how  to 
introduce  this  subject,  yet  as  I  fear  you  may  hear  it  from 
others  and  feel  anxious  for  my  welfare,  I  consider  it  a  duty 
to  tell  you  all.  At  Albany,  on  our  way  to  Ballston,  we 
put  up  at  the  same  house  with  a  Mr.  Bowne  from  New 
York  ;  he  went  on  to  the  Springs  the  same  day  we  did,  and 
from  that  time  was  particularly  attentive  to  me  ;  he  was  al 
ways  of  our  parties  to  ride,  went  to  Lake  George  in  com 
pany  with  us,  and  came  on  to  Lebanon  when  we  did,  — 
for  4  weeks  I  saw  him  every  day  and  probably  had  a  better 
opportunity  of  knowing  him  than  if  I  had  seen  him  as  a 
common  acquaintance  in  town  for  years.  I  felt  cautious  of 
encouraging  his  attentions,  tho1  I  did  not  wish  to  discour 
age  it,  —  there  were  so  many  New  Yorkers  at  the  Springs 
who  knew  him  perfectly  that  I  easily  learnt  his  character 
and  reputation  ;  he  is  a  man  of  business,  uniform  in  his 
conduct  and  very  much  respected-,  all  this  we  knew  from 
report.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Derby  were  very  much  pleased  with 
him,  but  conducted  towards  me  with  peculiar  delicacy,  left 
me  entirely  to  myself,  as  on  a  subject  of  so  much  impor 
tance  they  scarcely  dared  give  an  opinion.  I  felt  myself  in 
a  situation  truly  embarrassing.  At  such  a  distance  from 
all  my  friends,  — my  Father  and  Mother  a  perfect  stranger 
to  the  person,  —  and  prepossessed  in  his  favor  as  much  as 
so  short  an  acquaintance  would  sanction,  —  his  conduct 
was  such  as  I  shall  ever  reflect  on  with  the  greatest  pleas 
ure,  —  open,  candid,  generous,  and  delicate.  He  is  a  man 
in  whom  I  could  place  the  most  unbounded  confidence, 
120 


No  Disposition  to  Refuse 

nothing  rash  or  impetuous  in  his  disposition,  but  weighs 
maturely  every  circumstance ;  he  knew  I  was  not  at  liberty 
to  encourage  his  addresses  without  the  approbation  of  my 
Parents,  and  appeared  as  solicitous  that  I  should  act  with 
strict  propriety  as  one  of  my  most  disinterested  friends. 
He  advised  me  like  a  friend  and  would  not  have  suffered 
me  to  do  anything  improper.  He  only  required  I  would 
not  discourage  his  addresses  till  he  had  an  opportunity  of 
making  known  to  my  Parents  his  character  and  wishes  — 
this  I  promised  and  went  so  far  as  to  tell  him  I  approved 
him  as  far  as  I  knew  him,  but  the  decision  must  rest  with 
my  Parents,  their  wishes  were  my  law.  He  insisted  upon 
coming  on  immediately:  that  I  absolutely  refused  to  con 
sent  to.  But  all  my  persuasion  to  wait  till  winter  had  no 
effect ;  the  first  of  October  he  will  come.  I  could  not  pre 
vent  it  without  a  positive  refusal ;  this  I  felt  no  disposition 
to  give.  And  now,  my  dearest  Mother,  I  submit  myself 
wholly  to  the  wishes  of  my  Father  and  you,  convinced  that 
my  happiness  is  your  warmest  wish,  and  to  promote  it  has 
ever  been  your  study.  That  I  feel  deeply  interested  in  Mr. 
Bowne  I  candidly  acknowledge,  and  from  the  knowledge  I 
have  of  his  heart  and  character  I  think  him  better  calcu 
lated  to  promote  my  happiness  than  any  person  I  have  yet 
seen ;  he  is  a  firm,  steady,  serious  man,  nothing  light  or 
trifling  in  his  character,  and  I  have  every  reason  to  think 
he  has  well  weighed  his  sentiments  towards  me, —  nothing 
rash  or  premature.  I  have  referred  him  wholly  to  you,  and 
you,  my  dearest  Parents,  must  decide.  Octavia  mentioned 
nothing  about  moving,  but  I  am  extremely  anxious  to  know 
how  soon  we  go  into  Portland  and  what  house  we  shall 
have.  Write  me  immediately  on  the  subject,  and  let  me 
know  if  you  approve  my  conduct.  Mr.  Bowne  wishes  me 
to  remain  here  until  he  comes  on  and  then  let  him  carry 
me  home  :  this  I  objected  to,  but  will  depend  on  your  ad- 
121 


The  Friendly  Craft 

vice.  .  .  .  You  cannot  imagine  how  interested  they  [Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Derby]  both  are  in  the  subject  I  have  been 
writing  you  upon,  —  my  nearest  friends  cannot  feel  more, 
they  have  witnessed  the  whole  progress,  and  if  you  knew 
them,  would  be  convinced  they  would  not  have  let  me  act 
improperly,  they  both  approve  my  conduct.  I  wish  my 
Father  would  write  to  Mr.  Derby  and  know  what  he  says 
of  Mr.  B.'s  character.  I  don't  know  but  'tis  a  subject  too 
delicate  to  give  his  opinion,  but  I  can  conceive  that  my 
Father  might  request  it  without  impropriety.  ...  I  long 
to  hear  from  home.  My  love  to  all  my  friends,  and  be 
lieve  me,  with  every  sentiment  of  duty  and  affection,  your 
daughter  ELIZA 

Martha  sent  me  a  most  elegant  Indispensable,  white 
lutestring  spangled  with  silver,  and  a  beautiful  bracelet  for 
the  arm  made  of  her  hair ;  she  is  too  good  —  to  love  me 
as  she  says,  more  than  ever. 

In   spite  of  ignorance,  Mr.  Longfellow  admires  Mr. 
Sumner's  speech     x^y  ^>    ^>-    <^   ^>  ^x  ^> 

Jamtary  27,  1870 

.  .  .  "XTEVER  having  dealt  with  any  other  figures  than 
•*  ^  figures  of  speech  ;  never  having  known  the  dif 
ference  between  a  bank-note  and  a  greenback ;  never  hav 
ing  suspected  that  there  was  any  difference  between  them, 
—  you  can  imagine  with  what  a  dark-lantern  I  have  read 
your  speech  on  the  Refunding  and  Consolidation  of  the 
National  Debt. 

I  am  as  capable  of  forming  an  idea  of  it  as  a  gentleman 
was  the  other  day  of  estimating  a  lovely  little  Albani's 
"  Europa  "  which  I  showed  him,  when  he  said,  "  A  chromo 
lithograph,  I  presume." 

However,  I  have  faith  in  you ;   and  faith  is  "  the  evi- 

122 


Lacrymce  Rerum 

dence  of  things  unseen,11  —  though  I  think  that  before 
having  it,  one  must  have  seen  something  or  other  which 
inspires  it.  This  is  just  my  case.  Having  known  you  so 
wise  and  far-seeing  in  other  matters,  I  believe  you  to  be  in 
this.  .  .  . 

"  No  time  like  the  old  time"     ^>    ^>    ^v    ^>    ^> 
(Charles  Sumner  to  Henry  W.  Longfellow) 

AT  YOUR  HOME,  Sunday,  Aug.  8,  1847 

DEARLY  BELOVED  HENRY,  —  I  came  here  yes 
terday  morning,  and  am  monarch  of  all  I  survey ; 
my  right  there  is  none  to  dispute.  I  seize  a  moment  in 
the  lull  of  the  grinding  labor  of  committing  my  address  to 
memory,  to  send  you  and  Fanny  a  benediction.  I  wander 
through  the  open  rooms  of  your  house,  and  am  touched  by 
an  indescribable  feeling  of  tenderness  at  the  sight  of  those 
two  rooms  where  we  have  mused  and  mourned  so  often 
together.  Joy  has  washed  from  your  mind  those  memo 
ries,  but  they  cling  to  me  still.  I  looked  at  the  place 
where  stood  the  extempore  cot  bedstead.  I  hope  that  is 
preserved ;  if  I  ever  have  a  home  of  my  own,  I  shall  claim 
it  as  an  interesting  memorial.  Then  the  places  where 
we  have  sat  and  communed,  and  that  window-seat,  —  all 
seemed  to  speak  to  me  with  soft  voices.  Most  sacred  is 
that  room  to  me,  —  more  so  than  any  other  haunt  of  my 
life.  I  remember  all  your  books  as  they  then  looked  upon 
me  gently  from  the  shelves.  Have  you  forgotten  the 
verses  of  Suckling  which  we  once  read  together  ?  I  leave 
for  Amherst  on  Tuesday,  and  shall  be  back  on  Friday. 
Let  me  have  a  note  from  you  or  Fanny.  I  wish  I  were 
not  quite  so  sad  as  I  am  disposed  to  be.  Felton  says  my 
address  is  very  fine.  Howe  says  it  will  astonish  by  its 
practical  character.  It  is  more  plain,  less  ornate,  than  the 
123 


The  Friendly  Craft 

others.  Its  title  is  "Fame  and  Glory.11  I  have  said 
nothing,  however,  which  your  "  Psalm  of  Life "  does  not 
embody.  One  touch  upon  your  harp  sounds  louder  and 
longer  than  all  I  can  do. 

Ever  and  ever  thine, 

C.  S. 

"No  friends  like  our  old  friends"  ^^    ^y    ^^    -^ 
(James  Russell  Lowell  to  William  Wetmore  Story) 
ELMWOOD,  Sept.  25th,  1849 

A/TY  DEAR  WILLIAM,  —  .  .  .  There  is  one  of  your 
*»*  foreign  experiences  which  I  grudge  you,  only  one 
which  I  envy,  and  that  is  the  meeting  with  F.  H.  If  he  be 
still  within  reach  of  voice  or  letter,  give  him  my  love,  fresh 
as  ever  after  so  many  years'  silence  —  nay,  seeming  all  the 
fresher,  like  a  flower  upon  a  grave.  Yet  for  that  buried 
friendship  I  live  in  the  faith  of  a  joyful  resurrection  —  and 
in  the  body.  Here  I  sit  alone  this  chilly  September  morn 
ing,  with  the  rain  just  beginning  to  rattle  on  the  roof,  and 
the  writing  of  his  name  has  sent  my  heart  back  to  the 
happy  hopeful  past  when  one  was  capable  of  everything 
because  one  had  not  yet  tried  anything.  The  years  have 
taught  me  some  sharp  and  some  sweet  lessons  —  none 
wiser  than  this,  to  keep  the  old  friends.  Every  year  adds 
its  value  to  a  friendship  as  to  a  tree,  with  no  effort  and 
no  merit  of  ours.  The  lichens  upon  the  bark,  which  the 
dandyfiers  of  Nature  would  scrape  away,  even  the  dead 
limbs  here  and  there,  are  dear  and  sacred  to  us.  Every 
year  adds  its  compound  interest  of  association  and  enlarges 
the  circle  of  shelter  and  of  shade.  It  is  good  to  plant  them 
early,  for  we  have  not  the  faith  to  do  it  when  we  are  old. 
I  write  it  sadly  and  with  tears  in  my  eyes.  Later  friends 
drink  our  lees,  but  the  old  ones  drank  the  clear  wine  at 
124 


Auld  Lang  Syne 

the  brim  of  our  cups.     Who  knew  us  when  we  were  witty? 
who  when  we  were  wise  ?  who  when  we  were  green  ?  .  .  . 

William   Wetmore   Story  recalls  the   days  lang  syne 
(To  James  Russell  Lowell) 

ROME,  December  loth,  1864 
T  DEAR  JAMES,  — I  was  taken  ill  a  month  ago  at 


Paris,  and  while  I  was  lying  on  my  bed  E.  read  to  me 
your  delightful  book  of  "  Fireside  Travels,1'  which  I  was 
fortunate  enough  to  procure  from  London.  As  she  read  it  all 
the  old  days  revived,  all  the  old  passages  of  love  and  hope 
and  joy  which  we  have  known  together  came  before  me, 
and  my  heart  yearned  toward  you  as  to  one  of  the  oldest 
and  best  loved  of  all  my  old  friends.  For  years  our  cor 
respondence  has  ceased — why  I  know  not;  but  my  affec 
tion  has  never  wavered  for  a  moment,  and  I've  eagerly 
sought  from  all  who  had  seen  you  news  and  information 
about  you  and  yours.  But  as  I  read  your  book  —  so  genial, 
so  rich  in  humour  and  fancy —  I  seemed  as  it  were  to  be 
again  talking  with  you,  and  I  determined,  as  soon  as  I 
should  be  well  and  have  a  half  hour  of  unoccupied  time, 
to  write  and  break  this  long  silence,  and  thank  you  for  the 
kindly  mention  of  me  which  is  scattered  through  your  book, 
and  for  the  dedication  of  it  to  me.  I  hear  that  there  is  a 
sonnet  or  some  verses  prefixed  to  the  American  edition, 
but  this  I  have  not  seen,  as  it  is  omitted  in  the  English 
edition. 

How  I  wish  you  were  again  here  as  in  the  olden  times, 
and  that  we  again  could  wander  about  the  streets  of  the 
city  and  through  the  mountain  towns,  or  sit  long  evenings 
before  the  fire  late  into  the  night  and  talk  as  we  used  to  do. 
There  is  one  great  drawback  to  me  in  my  Roman  life,  and 
that  is  the  want  of  some  friend  with  whom  I  can  thoroughly 
125 


The   Friendly  Craft 

sympathize  and  whom  I  can  meet  on  the  higher  ranges  of 
art  and  literature.  For  the  most  part,  and  with  scarcely 
an  exception  among  the  American  artists,  art  is  (here)  but 
a  money-making  trade,  and  I  can  have  no  sympathy  with 
those  who  are  artists  merely  to  make  their  living.  As  for 
general  culture  there  are  none  of  our  countrymen  here  who 
pretend  to  it,  and  I  hunger  and  thirst  after  some  one  who 
might  be  to  me  as  you  were.  But  nobody  makes  good  the 
place  of  old  friends.  We  are  knitted  together  with  our 
youth  as  we  never  can  be  in  our  older  age.  .  .  .  Has  the 
wild  love  of  travel  gone  out  of  your  blood  as  it  has  out  of 
mine?  Are  you  growing  respectable,  solemn,  professorial 
and  dignified?  I  figure  you  to  myself  sometimes  as  sitting 
in  the  academic  robes  on  the  platform  at  Commencement, 
and  cannot  but  smile  as  I  see  you  there.  Once  in  a  while 
I  hear  your  trumpet  sound  through  the  columns  of  the 
"Atlantic"  or  "North  American,1'  and  more  rarely  I  read 
some  new  poem.  But  why  are  the  poems  so  rare?  Do 
not  let  the  dust  of  the  University  drop  too  thickly  upon 
you.  Do  not  yoke  Pegasus  down  into  the  professor's  har 
ness.  You  see  I  have  not  touched  your  hand  and  heard 
your  voice  for  so  long  that  I  cannot  do  more  than  grope 
after  you  in  the  dark,  wondering  about  you  and  fearing  and 
hoping,  and  getting  perhaps  everything  wrong. 

This  year  I  thought  of  going  to  America  and  seeing  the 
old  places  again.  But  I  hate  to  travel,  and  the  expense, 
added  to  my  dislike  of  worry,  prevented  me.  Besides,  I 
was  not  quite  well  in  England,  and  loved  better  to  lounge 
on  the  lawn  at  Mount  Felix  than  to  be  tossed  on  the  rest 
less  and  roaring  ocean  —  but  it  is  just  possible  that  next 
year  I  may  brace  myself  up  to  this  terrible  voyage,  and 
then  I  shall  see  you.  If  I  do  come  I  hope  to  bring  with 
me  some  statue  ...  to  show  as  token  of  how  I  have  spent 
my  thoughts  and  my  life  here.  At  present  there  is  nothing 
126 


A  Weakness  and  All  That 

of  mine  in  America  of  the  best  that  I  have  done,  and  I 
should  like  that  something  should  be  there  containing  my 
best  —  which  is  nothing  too  good.  I  suppose  as  yet  that 
nobody  is  convinced  that  there  is  much  in  me,  and  I  fear 
that  they  are  all  right.  They  still  pat  me  on  the  head  and 
feebly  encourage  me  now  and  then. 

.  .  .  We  live  in  the  Barberini  Palace  and  look  down 
from  our  windows  over  all  Rome,  but  there  is  not  a  person 
in  any  house  so  dear  to  us  as  you  are.  .  .  . 

James  Russell  Lowell  obeys  his  impulse  and  writes  to 
Mr.  Godkin      x^>      ^^      *^>      ^>      ^>      ^> 


D' 


ELM  WOOD,  8th  Jany.,  1869 

•N'T  think  I  have  gone  mad  that  I  so  pepper 
you  with  letters.  I  have  a  reason,  as  you  will 
see  presently.  But  in  the  first  place  let  me  thank  you  for 
the  article  on  Miss  Dickinson,  which  was  just  what  I 
wanted  and  expected,  for  (excuse  me)  you  preach  the  best 
lay  sermons  I  know  of.  I  know  it  is  a  weakness  and  all 
that,  but  I  was  born  with  an  impulse  to  tell  people  when  I 
like  them  and  what  they  do,  and  I  look  upon  you  as  a 
great  benefactor.  I  sit  under  your  preaching  every  week 
with  indescribable  satisfaction,  and  know  just  how  young 
women  feel  toward  their  parson,  but,  let  Mrs.  Godkin  take 
courage,  I  can't  marry  you ! 

My  interest  in  the  Nation  is  one  of  gratitude,  and  has 
nothing  to  do  with  my  friendship  for  you.  I  am  sure  from 
what  I  hear  said  against  you  that  you  are  doing  great  good 
and  that  you  are  respected.  I  may  be  wrong,  but  I  sin 
cerely  believe  you  have  raised  the  tone  of  the  American 
press.  .  .  . 


127 


The  Friendly  Craft 

"  A  benediction  on  the  Benedictines  "  ^^     «^,     -<^> 
(Henry  W.  Longfellow  to  Mrs.  Annie  Fields) 

February  28,  1871 

A     BENEDICTION  on  the  Benedictines  ! 
<**•       I  knew  they  were  great  lovers  of  literature,  but  I 
did  not  know  that  they  were  also  distillers  of  herbs  and 
manufacturers  of  exquisite  liqueurs! 

Your  charming  remembrance  of  me  on  my  birthday,  — 
the  jolly,  round,  and  happy  little  monk  bedded  in  flowers, 
came  safely  in  his  wooden  cradle.  A  thousand  and  a 
thousand  thanks  ! 

I  am  ashamed  to  send  back  the  basket,  or  bucket,  empty  ; 
but  I  look  round  in  vain  for  something  to  fill  it.  What 
shall  I  do  ? 

After  all,  the  greatest  grace  of  a  gift,  perhaps,  is  that  it 
anticipates  and  admits  of  no  return.  I  therefore  accept 
yours,  pure  and  simple  ;  and  on  the  whole  am  glad  that  I 
have  nothing  to  send  back  in  the  basket. 

Still,  empty  is  a  horrid  word.  I  try  in  vain  to  comfort 
myself.  I  make  believe  it  is  the  best  thing  to  do,  and  do 
it,  knowing  all  the  time  it  is  not  the  best  thing.  .  .  . 

The  unfinished  sum    ^>      ^>      ^>     ^>     ^>     <^ 

(Henry  W.  Longfellow  to  George  William  Curtis) 

February  28,  1877 

T  HASTEN  to  respond  to  your  cordial  and  affectionate 
J-  greeting  on  my  birthday,  and  to  say  how  delightful  it 
was  to  hear  such  words  from  you.  It  was  almost  as  good 
as  seeing  you  ;  but  not  quite. 

It  is  a  strange  feeling,  this  of  being  seventy  years  old.    I 
cannot  say  precisely  what  the    feeling  is, — but  you  will 
128 


Liking  To   Be   Liked 

know  one  of  these  days.  It  is  something  like  that  of  a 
schoolboy  who  has  filled  one  side  of  his  slate  with  the 
figures  of  a  very  long  sum,  and  has  to  turn  the  slate  over 
to  go  on  with  it.  ... 

"Forging  over  the  reef"     ^^     <^      ^y     ^^     x^* 

(James  Russell  Lowell  to  Mrs.  Leslie  Stephen) 

68  BEACON  STREET,  Feb.  27,  1889 
HAVE  been  forging  over  the  reef  of  my  seventi- 


I 


eth  birthday  into  the  smooth  water  beyond  with 
out  much  damage  to  my  keel,  so  far  as  I  can  discover.  .  .  . 

I  was  dined  on  my  birthday,  and  praised  to  a  degree 
that  would  have  satisfied  you,  most  partial  even  of  your 
sex.  But  somehow  I  liked  it,  and  indeed  none  but  a  pig 
could  have  helped  liking  the  affectionate  way  it  was  done. 
I  suppose  it  is  a  sign  of  weakness  in  me  somewhere,  but  I 
can't  help  it.  I  do  like  to  be  liked.  It  gives  me  a  far  bet 
ter  excuse  for  being  about  (and  in  everybody's  way)  than 
having  written  a  fine  poem  does.  Thafll  be  all  very  well 
when  one  is  under  the  mould.  But  I  am  not  sure  whether 
one  will  care  for  it  much.  So  keep  on  liking  me,  won't 
you? 

It  is  very  droll  to  be  seventy.  Don't  scold  me  for  it  — 
I'll  never  do  it  again ;  but  I  don't  feel  any  older,  I  think, 
and  I  am  sure  I  don't  feel  any  wiser,  than  I  did  before. 
Tis  a  little  depressing  to  be  reminded  that  one  has  lived 
so  long  and  done  so  little.  When  I  measure  the  length 
with  the  achievement  there  is  a  horrible  overlapping,  but 
I  shall  expect  a  certain  deference.  Whatever  condescen 
sion  I  show  will  be  multiplied  by  seven  instead  of  six, 
remember,  and  precious  in  proportion.  .  .  . 

From  "  Letters  of  James  Russell  Lowell,"  edited  by  Charles  Eliot  Norton. 
Copyright,  1893,  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 
K  129 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Dr.  Holmes  feels  "  young  again  at  four  score  "        x^» 
(To  John  G.  Whittier) 

September  2,  1889 

HERE  I  am  at  your  side  among  the  octogenarians.  .  .  . 
You  know  all  about  it.  You  know  why  I  have  not 
thanked  you  before  this  for  your  beautiful  and  precious 
tribute,  which  would  make  any  birthday  memorable.  I 
remember  how  you  were  overwhelmed  with  tributes  on  the 
occasion  of  your  own  eightieth  birthday,  and  you  can 
understand  the  impossibility  I  find  before  me  of  respond 
ing  in  any  fitting  shape  to  all  the  tokens  of  friendship 
which  I  receive.  ...  I  hope,  dear  Whittier,  that  you  find 
much  to  enjoy  in  the  midst  of  all  the  lesser  trials  which 
old  age  must  bring  with  it.  You  have  kind  friends  all 
around  you,  and  the  love  and  homage  of  your  fellow- 
countrymen  as  few  have  enjoyed  them,  with  the  deep  sat 
isfaction  of  knowing  that  you  have  earned  them,  not 
merely  by  the  gifts  of  your  genius,  but  by  a  noble  life 
which  has  ripened  without  a  flaw  into  a  grand  and  serene 
old  age.  I  never  see  my  name  coupled  with  yours,  as  it 
often  is  nowadays,  without  feeling  honored  by  finding  my 
self  in  such  company,  and  wishing  that  I  were  more 
worthy  of  it.  ...  I  am  living  here  with  my  daughter-in- 
law,  and  just  as  I  turned  this  leaf  I  heard  wheels  at  the 
door,  and  she  got  out,  leading  in  in  triumph  her  hus 
band,  His  Honor,  Judge  Holmes  of  the  Supreme  Court  of 
Massachusetts,  just  arrived  from  Europe  by  the  Scythia. 
I  look  up  to  him  as  my  magistrate,  and  he  knows  me 
as  his  father,  but  my  arms  are  around  his  neck  and  his 
mustache  is  sweeping  my  cheek,  —  I  feel  young  again  at 
fourscore.  . 


130 


w 


An  Affable   Princess 

VII 

GENIAL   GOSSIP 

Mrs.  Pinckney  of  South  Carolina  and  the  mother  of 
George  III  discuss  domestic  affairs        <^x        -<^ 

rE  were  received  in  a  manner  that  surprized  us, 
for  tho'  we  had  heard  how  good  a  woman 
the  Princess  of  Wales  was,  and  how  very  affable  and  easy, 
her  behaviour  exceeded  everything  I  had  heard  or  could 
imagine. 

She  came  forward  and  received  us  at  the  door  herself, 
with  Princess  Augusta,  Princess  Elizabeth,  Prince  William, 
and  Prince  Henry.  She  mett  us  with  all  the  chearfulness 
and  pleasure  of  a  friend  who  was  extreamely  glad  to  see  us  ; 
she  gave  us  no  time  to  consider  how  to  introduce  ourselves 
or  to  be  at  a  loss  what  to  say,  for  she  with  an  air  of  benig 
nity  told  us  as  soon  as  we  entered  she  was  very  glad  to  see 
us,  took  Harriott  by  the  hand  and  kissed  her,  asked  her 
how  she  liked  England,  to  w^.1  she  answered,  not  so  well 
as  Carolina,  at  wl!1  the  Princess  laughed  a  good  deal,  and 
said  it  was  very  natural  for  such  a  little  woman  as  she  to 
love  her  own  Country  best.  .  .  . 

She  introduced  the  Princes  and  Princesses  that  were 
with  her  to  us,  and  told  us  we  should  see  the  rest  presently  ; 
inquired  how  long  we  had  been  from  Carolina,  whether  I 
was  not  frightened  with  the  voyage,  how  the  Children  bore 
it,  how  many  we  had,  what  their  ages,  sons  or  daughters, 
whether  Carolina  was  a  good  country,  whether  we  had  a 
good  Governor,  to  wc.*}  we  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

She  said  she  was  sure  the  King  was  all  ways  pleased 
when  his  provinces  had  good  governors ;  enquired  the 
Governor's  name,  and  said  she  had  forgot  it.  She  talked 


The  Friendly  Craft 

to  us  standing  about  half  an  hour,  for  w<£  I  was  in  great 
pain.  Mr.  Pinckney  then  told  her  he  fear^  we  intruded 
upon  her  Highness  and  was  going  to  withdraw,  she  told 
us  not  at  all,  we  should  not  go  yet.  She  believed  we 
would  be  glad  to  see  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and  she  would 
send  for  him  and  Prince  Edward  ;  these  two  live  in  a  house 
just  opposite  to  the  Princess ;  she  then  sett  down  in  her 
chair.  By  this  time  my  poor  little  girl  who  had  been  a 
good  deal  flurried  and  overjoyed  at  the  thought  of  seeing 
the  Princesses,  began  to  cry  tho1  she  smothered  it  as  well 
as  she  could.  The  Princess  said  she  feared  she  was  un 
easy,  called  her  several  times  her  little  angel,  stooped 
upon  her  knee  to  her,  and  desired  she  would  tell  her  what 
was  the  matter.  I  told  the  Princess  she  had  raisd  her 
spirits  to  such  a  height,  that  she  was  not  able  to  soport  it 
any  longer.  The  Princess  then  took  her  on  her  lap,  and 
called  again  for  the  three  youngest  Princesses  as  they 
came  in  she  told  them  this  was  Miss  Pinckney  from 
Carolina  was  come  to  see  them,  and  to  go  and  kiss  her. 
The  little  creature  Princess  Caroline  is  a  most  charming 
little  babe,  speaks  very  plain,  run  to  her,  kissd  her,  and 
said  to  the  Princess,  Mamma  this  is  my  girl.  I  then 
asked  her  Royal  Highness  if  she  would  permit  me  to  kiss 
the  little  one,  she  replyd,  pray  do,  and  ordered  Prince 
Frederick  but  three  years  old,  to  come  and  ask  me  if  he 
was  not  a  good  pretty  little  foot  boy? 

I  should  observe  that  as  soon  as  we  were  introduced  the 
attendance  all  withdrew,  and  the  Princess  shut  the  door, 
and  when  the  Princess  ordered  the  little  ones  in  there 
was  none  of  the  attendance,  nor  when  she  sent  for  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  but  the  Princess  Augusta  went  out  of  the 
room  herself  on  these  Messages  to  some  one  without, 
w^1?  was  4  times  while  we  stayd.  There  was  in  the  room 
a  great  deal  of  China  upon  two  Cabinets ;  the  Princess 
132 


Pretty  Extraordinary 

got  up  herself  and  reached  one  of  the  figures  to  please 
Harriott,  and  another  time  desired  the  Princess  Augusta 
to  get  one  w^  was  out  of  her  reach,  so  she  got  a  chair 
and  stood  on  it  to  reach  it.  She  then  calld  for  a  little 
chair  for  one  of  the  little  ones,  who  I  fancy  was  not  well, 
for  'tis  not  usual  for  any  one  to  sit  in  her  presence,  wch 
Princess  Augusta  brought  herself. 

This,  you'll  imagine  must  seem  pretty  extraordinary  to 
an  American. 

.  .  .  She  then  bid  H.  sit  down  before  her  in  the  chair 
Princess  Emelia  had  just  rose  from.  I  told  her  I  could 
not  suffer  her  to  sit  in  her  presence.  Puh-Puh,  says  the 
Princess,  she  knows  nothing  of  all  that ;  and  sat  her 
down.  .  .  .  By  this  time  the  little  ones  were  called  to 
dinner,  I  observed  that  tho  they  were  quite  easy  in  their 
behaviour  and  seemed  to  be  under  no  restraint,  yet  young 
as  they  were  they  never  spoke  but  one  at  a  time,  nor  ever 
interrupted  each  other  w^  children  .  .  .  usually  do.  When 
the  4  youngest  were  gone  the  Princess  resumed  her  inquiries 
after  Carolina.  .  .  . 

She  asked  me  many  little  domestick  questions  as  did 
Princess  Augusta  among  w^l1  if  I  suckled  my  children.  I 
told  her  I  had  attempted  it  but  my  constitution  would  not 
bear  it.  She  said  she  did  not  know  but  'twas  as  well  let 
alone,  as  the  anxiety  a  mother  was  often  in  on  a  child's 
ace.1,  might  do  hurt.  .  .  . 

She  then  resumed  her  inquiries  after  Carolina,  as  to  the 
Government  and  Constitution  and  whether  the  Laws  were 
made  by  the  Governors  and  Council,  the  particulars  of 
w?!1  Mr.  Pinckney  informed  —  whether  we  had  Earth 
quakes,  asked  us  concerning  the  Hurricane,  .  .  .  con 
cerning  the  Indians  their  colour,  manners  etc,  how  many 
of  them  we  had  in  our  Interest,  of  our  houses,  of  what  they 
were  built,  our  wines  and  from  whence  we  had  them,  our 
133 


The  Friendly  Craft 

manner  of  eating  and  dressing  turtle,  one  of  w^  she  was 
to  have  for  dinner  next  day  she  told  me,  of  the  french 
settled  among  us,  of  the  french  corrupting  our  Indians,  of 
our  manifactures  and  concerning  silk ;  how  long  the  Prov 
ince  had  been  settled,  how  far  it  extended  back,  and 
many  other  questions,  to  all  w^  we  answered  her  Royal 
Highness  in  the  clearest  manner  we  could;  and  when  the 
Prince  would  engage  Mr  P.  at  a  little  distance,  and  she 
wanted  to  ask  him  a  question  she  would  call  in  a  familiar 
obliging  manner,  Mr  Pinckney  is  such  a  thing  so  and  so  ? 

.  .  .  We  saw  all  nine  children  together,  and  the  Princess 
in  the  midst,  and  a  most  lovely  family  it  is. 

After  we  had  been  there  two  hours,  we  kissed  her  Royal 
Higness's  hand  and  withdrew,  and  she  ordered  Prince 
Edward  to  see  us  to  the  door. 

I  hope  you  will  pardon  my  thus  intruding  on  y.r.  time. 
I  know  there  are  many  Chit-chat,  Negligent  things  w^ 
have  a  tolerable  air  in  conversation,  that  make  but  a  poor 
appearance  when  one  comes  to  write  them  down  and 
subscribe  to  them  in  a  formal  manner.  But  when  I  begin 
to  write  to  my  friends  in  Carolina  I  don't  know  how  to 
conclude  and  this  desire  of  conversing  with  them  may 
make  me  a  very  troublesome  correspondant,  tho'  I  hope  it 
will  at  the  same  time  show,  how  much  I  am  dear  madam, 
Yr  affectionate  and  ob?.*  svl. 

E.  PINCKNEY 

The    storm    does    not    keep    Eliza    Southgate    from 
the   Assembly         <^x        •<o>       *^x       -^       *^> 

PORTLAND,  March  i,  1802 

SUCH  a  frolic  !     Such  a  chain  of  adventures   I   never 
before  met  with,  nay.  the  page  of  romance  never  pre 
sented  its  equal.      1Tis  now  Monday,  —  but  a  little  more 
134 


Charles  Coffin  Remonstrates 

method,  that  I  may  be  understood.  I  have  just  ended  my 
Assembly's  adventure,  never  got  home  till  this  morning. 
Thursday  it  snowed  violently,  indeed  for  two  days  before 
it  had  been  storming  so  much  that  the  snow  drifts  were 
very  large  ;  however,  as  it  was  the  last  Assembly  I  could 
not  resist  the  temptation  of  going,  as  I  knew  all  the 
world  would  be  there.  About  7  I  went  down-stairs  and 
found  young  Charles  Coffin,  the  minister,  in  the  parlor. 
After  the  usual  enquiries  were  over  he  stared  awhile  at  my 
feathers  and  flowers,  asked  if  I  was  going  out, — I  told 
him  I  was  going  to  the  Assembly. 

"Think,  Miss  Southgate,"  said  he,  after  a  long  pause, 
"  think  you  would  go  out  to  meeting  in  such  a  storm  as 
this  ?  "  Then  assuming  a  tone  of  reproof,  he  entreated  me 
to  examine  well  my  feelings  on  such  an  occasion.  I 
heard  in  silence,  unwilling  to  begin  an  argument  that  I  was 
unable  to  support.  The  stopping  of  the  carriage  roused 
me  ;  I  immediately  slipt  on  my  socks  and  coat,  and  met 
Horatio  and  Mr.  Motley  in  the  entry.  The  snow  was 
deep,  but  Mr.  Motley  took  me  up  in  his  arms  and  sat  me 
in  the  carriage  without  difficulty.  I  found  a  full  assembly, 
many  married  ladies,  and  every  one  disposed  to  end  the 
winter  in  good  spirits.  At  one  we  left  dancing  and  went 
to  the  card-room  to  wait  for  a  coach.  It  stormed  dread 
fully.  The  hacks  were  all  employed  as  soon  as  they 
returned,  and  we  could  not  get  one  till  3  o'clock,  for 
about  two  they  left  the  house,  determined  not  to  return 
again  for  the  night.  It  was  the  most  violent  storm  I  ever 
knew.  There  were  now  20  in  waiting,  the  gentlemen 
scolding  and  fretting,  the  ladies  murmuring  and  complain 
ing.  One  hack  returned  ;  all  flocked  to  the  stairs  to 
engage  a  seat.  So  many  crowded  down  that  'twas  im 
possible  to  get  past  ;  luckily  I  was  one  of  the  first.  I 
stept  in,  found  a  young  lady,  almost  a  stranger  in  town, 
135 


The  Friendly  Craft 

who  keeps  at  Mrs.  Jordan's,  sitting  in  the  back-seat.  She 
immediately  caught  hold  of  me  and  beg'd  if  I  possibly 
could  accommodate  her  to  take  her  home  with  me,  as  she 
had  attempted  to  go  to  Mrs.  Jordan's,  but  the  drifts  were 
so  high,  the  horses  could  not  get  through  ;  that  they  were 
compelled  to  return  to  the  hall,  where  she  had  not  a  single 
acquaintance  with  whom  she  could  go  home.  I  was  dis- 
tres't,  for  I  could  not  ask  her  home  with  me,  for  sister  had 
so  much  company  that  I  was  obliged  to  go  home  with 
Sally  Weeks  and  give  my  chamber  to  Parson  Coffin.  I 
told  her  this,  and  likwise  that  she  should  be  provided  for 
if  my  endeavors  could  be  of  any  service.  None  but  ladies 
were  permitted  to  get  into  the  carriage  ;  it  presently  was 
stowed  in  so  full  that  the  horses  could  not  move  ;  the  door 
was  burst  open,  for  such  a  clamor  as  the  closing  of  it 
occasioned  I  never  before  heard.  The  universal  cry  was  — 
"  a  gentleman  in  the  coach,  let  him  come  out ! "  We 
all  protested  there  was  none,  as  it  was  too  dark  to  dis 
tinguish  ;  but  the  little  man  soon  raised  his  voice  and  bid 
the  coachman  proceed  ;  a  dozen  voices  gave  contrary 
orders.  'Twas  a  proper  riot,  I  was  really  alarmed.  My 
gentleman,  with  a  vast  deal  of  fashionable  independence, 
swore  no  power  on  earth  should  make  him  quit  his  seat  ; 
but  a  gentleman  at  the  door  jump't  into  the  carriage, 
caught  hold  of  him,  and  would  have  dragged  him  out  if  we 
had  not  all  entreated  them  to  desist.  He  squeezed  again 
into  his  seat,  inwardly  exulting  to  think  he  should  get  safe 
home  from  such  rough  creatures  as  the  men,  should  pass 
for  a  lady,  be  secure  under  their  protection,  for  none  would 
insult  him  before  them,  mean  creature  !  !  The  carriage  at 
length  started  full  of  ladies,  and  not  one  gentleman  to  pro 
tect  us,  except  our  lady  man  who  had  crept  to  us  for  shelter. 
When  we  found  ourselves  in  the  street,  the  first  thing  was 
to  find  out  who  was  in  the  carriage  and  where  we  were  all 
136 


What  was   his   Motive  ? 

going,  who  first  must  be  left.  Luckily  two  gentlemen  had 
followed  by  the  side  of  the  carriage,  and  when  it  stopt 
took  out  the  ladies  as  they  got  to  their  houses.  Our  sweet 
little,  trembling,  delicate,  unprotected  fellow  sat  immovable 
whilst  the" two  gentlemen  that  were  obliged  to  walk  thro' 
all  the  snow  and  storm  carried  all  the  ladies  from  the  car 
riage.  What  could  be  the  motive  of  the  little  wretch  for 
creeping  in  with  us  I  know  not :  I  should  have  thought 
'twas  his  great  wish  to  serve  the  ladies,  if  he  had  moved 
from  the  seat,  but  'twas  the  most  singular  thing  I  ever 
heard  of.  We  at  length  arrived  at  the  place  of  our  desti 
nation.  Miss  Weeks  asked  Miss  Coffin  (for  that  was  the 
unlucky  girl's  name)  to  go  home  with  her,  which  she 
readily  did.  The  gentlemen  then  proceeded  to  take  us  out. 
My  beau,  unused  to  carrying  such  a  weight  of  sin  and  folly, 
sank  under  its  pressure,  and  I  was  obliged  to  carry  my 
mighty  self  through  the  snow  which  almost  buried  me. 
Such  a  time,  I  never  shall  forget  it !  My  great-grand 
mother  never  told  any  of  her  youthful  adventures  to  equal 
it.  The  storm  continued  till  Monday,  and  I  was  obliged 
to  stay  ;  but  Monday  I  insisted  if  there  was  any  possibility 
of  getting  to  Sister's  to  set  out.  The  horse  and  sleigh  were 
soon  at  the  door,  and  again  I  sallied  forth  to  brave  the 
tempestuous  weather  (for  it  still  snowed).  ...  At 
length  we  arrived  at  Sister  Boyd's  door,  and  the  drift  be 
fore  it  .was  the  greatest  we  had  met  with  ;  the  horse  was 
so  exhausted  that  he  sunk  down,  and  we  really  thought 
him  dead.  'Twas  some  distance  from  the  gate  and  no 
path.  The  gentleman  took  me  up  in  his  arms  and  carried 
me  till  my  weight  pressed  him  so  far  into  the  snow  that  he 
had  no  power  to  move  his  feet.  I  rolled  out  of  his  arms 
and  wallowed  till  I  reached  the  gate ;  then  rising  to  shake 
off  the  snow,  I  turned  and  beheld  my  beau  fixed  and  im 
movable  ;  he  could  not  get  his  feet  out  to  take  another 
137 


The  Friendly  Craft 

step.  At  length,  making  a  great  exertion  to  spring  his 
whole  length  forward,  he  made  out  to  reach  the  poor  horse, 
who  lay  in  a  worse  condition  than  his  master.  By  this 
time  all  the  family  had  gathered  to  the  window,  indeed 
they  saw  the  whole  frolic ;  but  'twas  not  yet  ended,  for, 
unluckily,  in  pulling  off  Miss  Weeks1  bonnet  to  send  to 
the  sleigh  to  be  carried  back,  I  pulled  off  my  wig  and  left 
my  head  bare.  I  was  perfectly  convulsed  with  laughter. 
Think  what  a  ridiculous  figure  I  must  have  been,  still 
standing  at  the  gate,  my  bonnet  halfway  to  the  sleigh  and 
my  wig  in  my  hand.  However,  I  hurried  it  on,  for  they 
were  all  laughing  at  the  window,  and  made  the  best  of  my 
way  into  the  house.  The  horse  was  unhitched  and  again 
set  out,  and  left  me  to  ponder  on  the  incidents  of  the 
morning.  I  have  since  heard  of  several  events  that  took 
place  that  Assembly  night  much  more  amusing  than  mine, 
—  nay,  Don  Quixote's  most  ludicrous  adventures  compared 
with  some  of  them  will  appear  like  the  common  events  of 
the  day.  .  .  . 

While  waiting  for  breakfast,  Aaron  Burr  writes  to  his 
daughter    ^v>      x^x      ^^y      -<^>      <^      <^>-      ^> 
NEW-YORK,  August  6,  1803 

YOUR  letter  of  the  2oth  of  July  was  received  from 
the  post-office  on  my  arrival  last  evening.   There 
must  be  some  anachronism  in  the  date,  for  you  left  New- 
York  on  the  2 1 st.     I  learned,  however,  that  you  arrived, 
were  well,  and  had  danced.    Lord,  how  I  should  have  liked 
to  see  you  dance.     It  is  so  long;  how  long  is  it?     It  is 
certain  that  you  danced  better  than  anybody  and  looked 
better.    Not  a  word  of  the  Spring  waters,  their  effects,  &c. 
I   made  the  journey  from  Providence  by  land  in  four 
days.     Near  town,  yesterday,  P.M.,  I  met  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
138 


Miss  Did  Not  Come 

Harper,  of  Baltimore.  They  are  to  breakfast  with  me  this 
morning ;  so  I  must  make  haste,  for  it  is  now  eight  o'clock. 
How  bad  I  write  to-day.  With  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harper  was 
a  pretty-looking,  black-eyed  lass,  whose  name  I  did  not 
hear.  I  hope  she  is  coming  out  to  breakfast,  for  I  like  her. 
There  was  also  that  Liverpool  merchant,  who  used  to  hang 
on  Butler  so  in  Charleston.  I  hope  he  wont  come. 

.  .  .  Now  I  hear  the  carriage.  Bon  jour.  Be  a  good 
girl.  Love  to  H.  Twas  nothing  but  a  cart. 

L.  and  her  little  bang  are  here  (chez  nous}  ;  how  happy 
are  you  mothers.  She  will  descant  on  its  beauties  by  the 
hour ;  will  point  them  out  to  you  distinctly,  lest  they  might 
escape  notice.  The  hair,  the  nose,  the  mouth,  and,  in 
short,  every  feature,  limb,  and  muscle,  is  admirable  and  is 
admired.  To  all  which  I  agreed.  .  .  . 

Here  they  come,  in  earnest.  I  see  only  one  lady  in  the 
carriage  ;  so  miss  has  not  come  ;  well,  she  may  stay. 

A.  BURR 

And  in  spite  of  her  dilatoriness  continues  to  write  ^> 
NEW- YORK,  March  28,  1804 

.  .  .  "\7OUR  letter,  dated  early  in  this  month  —  I  don't 
JL  recollect  the  very  day,  having  left  the  letter  in 
town  ;  but  you  write  so  seldom  that  a  reference  to  the  month 
is  sufficiently  descriptive ;  your  letter,  then,  of  March,  an 
nouncing  your  removal  to  the  Oaks,  the  pretty  description 
of  your  house  and  establishment,  and  all  that,  were  very 
amusing.  I  had  really  begun  to  doubt  whether  you  were 
not  all  dead  or  something  worse. 

I  shall  get  the  speech,  no  thanks  to  you ;  there  is  a  copy 

in  Philadelphia,  for  which  I  have  written,  and  it  will  come 

endorsed  by  the  fair  hand  of  Celeste :  truly  her  hand  and 

arm  are  handsome.     I  did  not  see  her  on  my  way  through 

139 


The  Friendly  Craft 

—  tant  mieux;  for  I  took  great  affront;  thence  ensued 
explanations,  &c.  Nothing  like  a  quarrel  to  advance  love. 
La  Planche  I  did  see  twice  in  one  day ;  the  last  a  long, 
very  long  visit.  Lovely  in  weeds.  .  .  . 

Ph.  Church  and  Miss  Stewart,  of  Philadelphia,  it  is  said, 
are  to  be  married ;  Duer  (which  Duer  I  don't  know)  and 
Miss  M.  Denning  reported  as  engaged;  Bunner  and  Miss 
Church  said  to  be  mutually  in  love ;  on  his  part  avowed, 
on  hers  not  denied. 

The  Earl  of  Selkirk  is  here  ;  a  frank,  unassuming,  sensi 
ble  man  of  about  thirty.  Whether  he  thinks  of  La  R.  is 
unknown  to  the  writer.  He  dines  with  me  on  Monday. 

If  you  had  one  particle  of  invention  or  genius,  you  would 
have  taught  A.  B.  A.1  his  a,  b,  c  before  this.  God  mend 
you.  His  fibbing  is  an  inheritance,  which  pride,  an  inheri 
tance,  will  cure.  His  mother  went  through  that  process. 
Adieu. 

A.  BURR 


Washington  Irving  tries  to  save  the  country   xv>     -<^v 
(To  Miss  Mary  Fairlee) 

NEW  YORK,  May  2,  1807 

rE  have  toiled  through  the  purgatory  of  an 
election,  and  may  the  day  stand  for  aye 
accursed  on  the  Kalendar,  for  never  were  poor  devils 
more  intolerably  beaten  and  discomfited  than  my  forlorn 
brethren,  the  Federalists.  What  makes  me  the  more  out 
rageous  is,  that  I  got  fairly  drawn  into  the  vortex,  and  be 
fore  the  third  day  was  expired,  I  was  as  deep  in  mud  and 
politics  as  ever  a  moderate  gentleman  would  wish  to  be  ; 
and  I  drank  beer  with  the  multitude  ;  and  I  talked  handbill- 


W] 


1  Her  son. 
140 


The  Tug  of  War 


fashion  with  the  demagogues,  and  I  shook  hands  with  the 
mob  —  whom  my  heart  abhorreth.  'Tis  true  for  the  two 
first  days  I  maintained  my  coolness  and  indifference.  The 
first  day  I  merely  hunted  for  whim,  character,  and  ab 
surdity,  according  to  my  usual  custom  ;  the  second  day 
being  rainy,  I  sat  in  the  bar-room  at  the  Seventh  Ward, 
and  read  a  volume  of  Galatea,  which  I  found  on  a  shelf; 
but,  before  I  had  got  through  a  hundred  pages,  I  had  three 
or  four  good  Feds  sprawling  around  me  on  the  floor,  and 
another  with  his  eyes  half  shut,  leaning  on  my  shoulder  in 
the  most  affectionate  manner,  and  spelling  a  page  of  the 
book  as  if  it  had  been  an  electioneering  handbill.  But  the 
third  day  —  Ah !  then  came  the  tug  of  war.  My  patriotism 
all  at  once  blazed  forth,  and  I  determined  to  save  my 
country  !  Oh,  my  friend,  I  have  been  in  such  holes  and 
corners  ;  such  filthy  nooks  and  filthy  corners,  sweep  offices 
and  oyster  cellars  !  "  I  have  been  sworn  brother  to  a  leash 
of  drawers,  and  can  drink  with  any  tinker  in  his  own  lan 
guage  during  my  life," — faugh!  I  shall  not  be  able  to 
bear  the  smell  of  small  beer  or  tobacco  for  a  month  to 
come  !  .  .  . 

Truly  this  saving  one's  country  is  a  nauseous  piece  of 
business,  and  if  patriotism  is  such  a  dirty  virtue  —  prythee, 
no  more  of  it.  I  was  almost  the  whole  time  at  the  Seventh 
Ward  —  as  you  know,  that  is  the  most  fertile  ward  in  mob, 
riot,  and  incident,  and  I  do  assure  you  the  scene  was  ex 
quisitely  ludicrous.  Such  haranguing  and  puffing  and 
strutting  among  all  the  little  great  men  of  the  day.  Such 
shoals  of  unfledged  heroes  from  the  lower  wards,  who  had 
broke  away  from  their  mammas,  and  run  to  electioneer 
with  a  slice  of  bread  and  butter  in  their  hands.  . 


141 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Although   uninvited   and    badly    shaven,   Washington 

Irving  attends  Mrs.  Madison's  levee     ^>  -^  <^, 

(To  Henry  Brevoort) 

CITY  OF  WASHINGTON,/^;/.  13,  1811 

•p\EAR  BREVOORT :  I  have  been  constantly  intend- 

\J  ing   to  write  to  you;  but  you  know  the   hurry  and 

confusion  of  the  life  I  at  present  lead,  and  the  distraction 

of  thought  which  it  occasions,  and  which  is  totally  hostile 

to   letter  writing.     The  letter,  however,  which  you  have 

been  so  good  as  to  write  me,  demands  a  return  of  one  kind 

or  another ;  and  so  I  answer  it,  partly  through  a  sense  of 

duty,  and  partly  in  hopes  of  inducing  you  to  write  another. 

My  journey  to  Baltimore  was  terrible  and  sublime  — as 

full   of  adventurous  matter  and   direful  peril  as  one   of 

Walter  Scott's  pantomimic,  melo-dramatic,  romantic  tales. 

I    was    three   days    on    the    road,   and    slept    one    night 

in  a  log-house.     Yet  somehow  or  another,  I  lived  through 

it  all ;    and   lived    merrily   into  the   bargain,  for   which    I 

thank  a  large  stock  of  good  humor,  which  I  put  up  before 

my  departure  from  New  York,  as  travelling  stores  to  last 

me   throughout  my  expedition.     In  a  word,  I  left  home, 

determined  to  be  pleased  with  every  thing,  or  if  not  pleased, 

to  be  amused,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  distinction,  and  I 

have  hitherto  kept  to  my  determination.  .  .  . 

The  ride  from  Baltimore  to  Washington  was  still  worse 
than  the  former  one ;  but  I  had  two  or  three  odd  geniuses 
for  fellow-passengers,  and  made  out  to  amuse  myself  very 
well.  I  arrived  at  the  Inn  about  dusk  ;  and,  understand 
ing  that  Mrs.  Madison  was  to  have  her  levee  or  drawing- 
room  that  very  evening,  I  swore  by  all  my  gods  I  would  be 
there.  But  how?  was  the  question.  I  had  got  away 
down  into  Georgetown,  and  the  persons  to  whom  my 
letters  of  introduction  were  directed,  lived  all  upon  Capitol 
142 


A  Sanguinary   Barber 

Hill,  about  three  miles  off,  while  the  President's  house 
was  exactly  half  way.  Here  was  a  non-plus  enough  to 
startle  any  man  of  less  enterprising  spirit;  but  I  had 
sworn  to  be  there,  and  I  determined  to  keep  my  oath,  and 
like  Caleb  Quotem,  to  "have  a  place  at  the  Review."  So 
I  mounted  with  a  stout  heart  to  my  room  ;  resolved  to  put 
on  my  pease  blossoms  and  silk  stockings ;  gird  up  my 
loins  ;  sally  forth  on  my  expedition  ;  and  like  a  vagabond 
knight  errant,  trust  to  Providence  for  success  and  whole 
bones.  Just  as  I  descended  from  my  attic  chamber,  full  of 
this  valorous  spirit,  I  was  met  by  my  landlord,  with  whom, 
and  the  head  waiter,  by-the-bye,  I  had  held  a  private 
cabinet  counsel  on  the  subject.  Bully  Rook  informed  me 
that  there  was  a  party  of  gentlemen  just  going  from  the 
house,  one  of  whom,  Mr.  Fontaine  Maury  of  New  York, 
had  offered  his  services  to  introduce  me  to  "  the  Sublime 
Porte."  I  cut  one  of  my  best  opera  flourishes ;  skipped 
into  the  dressing-room,  popped  my  head  into  the  hands  of 
a  sanguinary  Jacobinical  barber,  who  carried  havoc  and 
desolation  into  the  lower  regions  of  my  face  ;  mowed  down 
all  the  beard  on  one  of  my  cheeks,  and  laid  the  other  in 
blood  like  a  conquered  province ;  and  thus,  like  a  second 
Banquo,  with  "  twenty  mortal  murthers  on  my  head,"  in  a 
few  minutes  I  emerged  from  dirt  and  darkness  into  the 
blazing  splendor  of  Mrs.  Madison's  drawing-room.  Here 
I  was  most  graciously  received  ;  found  a  crowded  collection 
of  great  and  little  men,  of  ugly  old  women  and  beautiful 
young  ones,  and  in  ten  minutes  was  hand  and  glove  with 
half  the  people  in  the  assemblage.  Mrs.  Madison  is  a 
fine,  portly,  buxom  dame,  who  has  a  smile  and  a  pleasant 
word  for  everybody.  Her  sisters,  Mrs.  Cutts  and  Mrs. 
Washington,  are  like  the  two  merry  wives  of  Windsor; 
but  as  to  Jemmy  Madison  —  ah!  poor  Jemmy!  —  he  is  but 
a  withered  little  apple-John.  .  .  . 
H3 


The  Friendly  Craft 

is  here,  and  "my  brother  George"  into  the 

bargain.     is  endeavoring  to  obtain  a  deposit  in  the 

Mechanic's  Bank,  in  case  the  U.  S.  Bank  does  not  obtain 
a  charter.  He  is  as  deep  as  usual ;  shakes  his  head,  and 
winks  through  his  spectacles  at  every  body  he  meets.  He 
swore  to  me  the  other  day,  that  he  had  not  told  anybody 
what  his  opinion  was,  whether  the  bank  ought  to  have  a 
charter  or  not ;  nobody  in  Washington  knew  what  his 
opinion  was  —  not  one  —  nobody  —  he  defied  any  one  to 
say  what  it  was  —  "  anybody  —  damn  the  one  —  no,  sir 
—  nobody  knows1' —  and,  if  he  had  added  nobody  cares, 

I  believe  honest would  have  been  exactly  in  the  right. 

Then  there's  his  brother "damn  that  fellow — knows 

eight  or  nine  languages  —  yes,  sir  —  nine  languages  — 
Arabic,  Spanish,  Greek,  Ital  —  and  there's  his  wife  now  — 
she  and  Mrs.  Madison  are  always  together.  Mrs.  Madi 
son  has  taken  a  great  fancy  to  her  little  daughter  ;  only 
think,  sir,  that  child  is  only  six  years  old,  and  talks  the 
Italian  like  a  book,  by  God  —  little  devil  learned  it  all 
from  an  Italian  servant  —  damned  clever  fellow  —  lived 

with  my  brother ten  years  —  says  he  would  not  part 

with  him  for  all  Tripoli,"  &c.,  &c.,  &c. 

...  It  is  now  almost  one  o'clock  at  night.  I  must  to 
bed.  Remember  me  to  all  the  lads  and  lasses,  Gertrude, 
Miss  Wilkes,  and  the  bonny  lasses  in  Greenwich  street, 
whose  fair  hands  I  kiss. 

I  am,  my  dear  fellow,  yours  ever, 

W.I. 


144 


Bouilli  is   Indispensable 

Mrs.  Samuel  Harrison  Smith  gives  "  a  small,  genteel 
dinner  "  for  Miss  Martineau   ^^     *^y     ^^     ^v 


A1 


(To  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick) 

WASHINGTON,  Febr.  4th,  1835 

ND  now  for  Miss  Martineau,  since  you  desire  to 
hear  a  little  more  about  her,  particularly  of  the 
day  she  passed  here.  But  I  really  must  give  you  a  pre 
vious  scene  which  amused  me  extremely  and  will  not  be 
without  some  diversion  for  you.  The  day  previous  to  our 
little  dinner  party,  I  sent  for  Henry  Orr,  whom  I  had  al 
ways  employed  when  I  had  company  and  who  is  the  most 
experienced  and  fashionable  waiter  in  the  city.  He  is 
almost  white,  his  manners  gentle,  serious  and  respectful, 
to  an  uncommon  degree  and  his  whole  appearance  quite 
gentlemanly.  "  Henry,1'  said  I,  when  he  came,  "  I  am 
going  to  have  a  small  dinner  party,  but  though  small,  I 
wish  it  to  be  peculiarly  nice,  everything  of  the  best  and 
most  fashionable.  I  wish  you  to  attend,  and  as  it  is  many 
years  since  I  have  dined  in  company,  you  must  tell  me 
what  dishes  will  be  best.  "  Bouilli,"  I  suppose,  "  is  not 
out  of  fashion?"  "No,  indeed,  Ma'am!  A  Bouilli  at  the 
foot  of  the  table  is  indispensable,  no  dinner  without  it." 
"  And  at  the  head  ?  "  "  After  the  soup,  Ma'am,  fish,  boiled 
fish,  and  after  the  Fish  canvas-backs,  the  Bouilli  to  be 
removed,  and  Pheasants."  "Stop,  stop  Henry,"  cried  I, 
"  not  so  many  removes  if  you  please !  "  "  Why,  ma'am, 
you  said  your  company  was  to  be  a  dozen,  and  I  am  only 
telling  you  what  is  absolutely  necessary.  Yesterday  at  Mr. 
Woodbury's  there  was  only  18  in  company  and  there  were  30 
dishes  of  meat."  "  But  Henry  I  am  not  a  Secretary's  lady. 
I  want  a  small,  genteel  dinner."  "Indeed,  ma'am,  that  is 
all  I  am  telling  you,  for  side  dishes  you  will  have  a  very 
L  145 


The  Friendly   Craft 

small  ham,  a  small  Turkey,  on  each  side  of  them  Partridges, 
mutton  chops,  or  sweet  breads,  a  macaroni  pie,  an  oyster 
pie."  —  "'That  will  do,  that  will  do,  Henry.  Now  for 
vegetables."  "Well,  ma'am,  stew'd  celery,  spinage,  sal 
sify,  cauliflower.1'  '"Indeed,  Henry,  you  must  substitute 
potatoes,  beets,  &c."  "Why,  ma'am,  they  will  not  be 
genteel,  but  to  be  sure  if  you  say  so,  it  must  be  so.  Mrs. 
Forsyth  the  other  day  would  have  a  plum-pudding,  she 
will  keep  to  old  fashions."  "What,  Henry,  plum-pudding 
out  of  fashion  ?"  "  La,  yes,  Ma'am,  all  kinds  of  puddings 
and  pies.1'  "  Why,  what  then  must  I  have  at  the  head 
and  foot  of  the  table  ?"  "  Forms  of  ice-cream  at  the  head, 
and  a  pyramid  of  anything,  grapes,  oranges,  or  anything 
handsome  at  the  foot."  "And  the  other  dishes?" 
"  Jellies,  custards,  blanc-mange,  cakes,  sweet-meats,  and 
sugar-plums."  "No  nuts,  raisons,  figs,  &c.,  &c.  ?"  "Oh, 
no,  no,  ma'am,  they  are  quite  vulgar."  "  Well,  well, 
Henry.  My  desert  is,  I  find,  all  right,  and  your  dinner 
I  suppose  with  the  exception  of  one  or  two  things.  You 
may  order  me  the  pies,  partridges,  and  pheasants  from  the 
French  cook,  and  Priscilla  can  do  the  rest."  "  Indeed, 
ma'am,  you  had  best " —  "No  more,  Henry,  "interrupted  I. 
"  I  am  not  Mrs.  Woodbury."  .  .  .  But  I  carried  my  point 
in  only  having  8  dishes  of  meat,  tho'  I  could  not  convince 
Henry,  it  was  more  genteel  than  a  grander  dinner.  He 
came  the  next  day,  and  leaving  him  and  the  girls  as  his 
assistants  (for  Anna  absolutely  locked  me  out  of  the  dining 
room)  I  sat  quietly  in  the  front  parlour,  as  if  no  company 
was  expected.  Mrs.  Randolph,  Mrs.  Coolidge  (Ellen 
Randolph  that  was),  James  Bayard  and  B[ayard]  K[irk- 
patrick]  were  the  only  additional  guests  to  Miss  M[ar- 
tineauj  and  Miss  Jeffrey  her  companion.  About  3,  B.  K. 
came.  I  only  was  in  the  parlour,  the  girls  were  dressing, 
presently  Ann  came  down,  and  told  me  Miss  M.  and  Miss 
146 


Miss   Marti neau's  Ear  Tube 

J.  were  up  stairs  in  my  room.  "And  you  left  them  there 
alone  !"  exclaimed  I.  "To  be  sure  answered  Ann,  with 
her  usual  nonchalance.  I  have  never  been  introduced  to 
them  and  they  asked  me  to  show  them  to  a  chamber.'1 
"  And  you  let  them  go  in  alone  !  "  "  To  be  sure/'  I  has 
tened  up  stairs  and  found  them  combing  their  hair.  They 
had  taken  off  their  bonnets  and  large  capes.  "You  see," 
said  Miss  M.,  "we  have  complied  with  your  request  and 
come  sociably  to  pass  the  day  with  you.  We  have  been 
walking  all  the  morning,  our  lodgings  were  too  distant  to 
return,  so  we  have  done  as  those  who  have  no  carriages 
do  in  England,  when  they  go  to  pass  a  social  day."  I 
offered  her  combs,  brushes,  etc.  but  showing  me  the 
enormous  pockets  in  her  french  dress,  said  they  were  pro 
vided  with  all  that  was  necessary,  and  pulled  out  nice  little 
silk  shoes,  silk  stockings,  a  scarf  for  her  neck,  little  lace 
mits,  a  gold  chain  and  some  other  jewelry,  and  soon  with 
out  changing  her  dress  was  prettily  equipped  for  dinner  or 
evening  company.  We  were  all  as  perfectly  at  our  ease  as 
if  old  friends.  Miss  M.'s  toillette  was  soonest  completed, 
and  sitting  down  by  me  on  the  sopha,  and  handing  me 
the  tube,  we  had  a  nice  social  chat  before  we  went  down 
stairs.  I  introduced  Mr.  Smith,  my  nephews,  and  son  &c. 
Mr.  S.  took  a  seat  on  the  sopha  by  her,  and  I  on  a  chair 
on  her  other  side,  to  be  near  to  introduce  others.  It  was 
quite  amusing  to  see  Mr.  S.  He  took  the  tube  and  at  first 
applied  its  wrong  cup  to  his  lips,  but  in  the  warmth  of 
conversation  perpetually  forgot  it,  and  as  he  always  ges 
ticulates  a  great  deal  with  his  hands,  he  was  waving  about 
the  cup,  quite  forgetful  of  its  use,  except  when  I  said,  as  I 
continually  had  to  do,  "  Put  it  to  your  lips."  But  Miss  M. 
had  admirable  tact  and  filled  up  the  gaps  of  his  part  of  the 
conversation,  made  by  the  waving  of  the  tube,  by  her  in 
tuitive  perception  and  talked  as  fluently  of  Lord  Brougham, 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Lord  Durham  and  other  political  personages,  of  whom  Mr. 
S.  inquired  as  if  she  had  heard  every  word  .  .  .  Mrs. 
Coolidge  managed  better,  and  conversed  with  perfect  ease 
and  great  fluency  until  dinner,  which  was  not  served  until 
five  o'clock,  when  the  curtains  being  drawn  and  shutters 
closed,  the  candles  on  the  table  were  lit  and  made  every 
thing  look  better.  .  .  .  Dinner  went  off  very  well.  I  con 
versed  a  great  deal  with  Miss  M.,  as  Mrs.  R.  would  not. 
Our  conversation  was  very  interesting  and  carried  on  in  a 
tone  that  all  the  rest  of  the  company  could  hear.  ...  It 
was  a  rich  treat  to  hear  her.  Her  words  flow  in  a  con 
tinual  stream,  her  voice  pleasing,  her  manners  quiet  and 
lady-like,  her  face  full  of  intelligence,  benevolence  and 
animation.  ...  It  was  1 1  o'clock  before  the  party  broke 
up.  Every  one  gratified  at  an  opportunity  of  meeting 
Miss  M.  in  such  a  quiet,  social  manner.  .  .  . 

Washington  Irving  denies  both     ^Qy     *^>     <^y     ^y 
(To  James  K.  Paulding,  Jan.  3,  1833) 

S  to  rumors,  they  are  as  numerous  as  they  are 
absurd.  Gouverneur's  particular  friend,  Bank- 
head,  the  British  charge  d'affaires,  has  just  returned  from 
New  York,  very  gravely  charged  with  one  concerning 

myself  ;  viz.,  that  I  was  to  marry  Miss ,  and  receive 

the  appointment  of  Postmaster  of  New  York ! !  Now 
either  the  lady  or  the  office  would  be  a  sufficient  blessing 
for  a  marrying  or  an  office-craving  man ;  but  God  help 
me  !  should  be  as  much  bothered  with  the  one  as  with 
the  other.  .  .  . 


A  Serious  Situation 

James  Russell  Lowell  prepares  to  buy  a  doll    <^    -^y 
(To  Mrs.  William  Wetmore  Story) 

HOTEL  DE  FRANCE,  RUE  LAFITTE, 
PARIS,  July  i6th,  1856 

MY  DEAR  EMELYN,  —  Here  I  am  back  again  just 
where  I  was  a  year  ago  at  this  time  and  as  delighted 
to  hear  of  your  being  in  England  as  I  was  then  dis 
appointed  to  find  that  you  had  decamped  thither  —  for  in 
England  I  shall  be  in  a  few  days.  It  is  rumoured  in  dip 
lomatic  circles  that  you  are  at  the  White  Hart,  Windsor  — 
which  has  a  very  comfortable  sound.  But  are  you  to  stay 
there  ?  Shall  we  go  and  see  another  cathedral  or  two 
together  ? 

What  I  wish  you  particularly  to  do  now  is  to  write  and 
tell  me  where  you  got  the  doll  which  has  so  excited  Ma 
bel's  cupidity.  If  you  can't  remember  the  exact  address 
can  you  tell  the  street  or  the  quarter  ?  Also  whether  it 
is  a  gal  of  wax  ?  Moves  her  eyes  ?  About  how  big  ?  Cost 
environ  how  much  ?  Has  a  wardrobe  ?  I  see  ruin  star 
ing  me  in  the  face,  and  have  just  got  a  letter  from  M. 
ordering  shoes,  stockings  and  what  not  for  the  young 
foreigner.  You  see  what  a  predicament  I  should  be  in 
were  I  to  go  home  with  the  wrong  baby.  It  is  not  a  case 
for  a  warming-pan,  for  the  features  of  the  child  are  already 
known  to  the  expectant  mother  by  vision  —  nay  by  actual 
touch  of  the  twin  sister  of  elder  birth.  Not  every  sup 
posititious  child  would  answer.  .  .  . 

So  the  Longfellows  are  coming  ?  Won't  they  have  a 
nice  time  !  Over  here  it  is  more  of  a  reputation  to  know 
Longfellow  than  to  have  written  various  immortal  works. 
Gather  your  laurels  while  ye  may,  old  Time  is  still  a-flying! 
and  old  times,  too,  more's  the  pity.  We  will  have  one 
more,  though,  in  England,  I  trust.  .  .  . 
149 


The  Friendly  Craft 

"  The  broken  circle "     ^>     <^v     ^>     -^x    -^y     *Q> 
(Henry  W.  Longfellow  to  Charles  Sumner) 

January  30,  1859 
"T  is  Sunday  afternoon.    You  know,  then,  how  the 


I 


old  house  looks,  —  the  shadow  in  the  library,  and 
the  sunshine  in  the  study,  where  I  stand  at  my  desk  and 
write  you  this.  Two  little  girls  are  playing  about  the 
room,  —  A.  counting  with  great  noise  the  brass  handles  on 
my  secretary,  "nine,  eight,  five,  one,"  and  E.  insisting 
upon  having  some  paper  box,  long  promised  but  never 
found,  and  informing  me  that  I  am  not  a  man  of  my  word  ! 
And  I  stand  here  at  my  desk  by  the  window,  thinking  of 
you,  and  hoping  you  will  open  some  other  letter  from 
Boston  before  you  do  mine,  so  that  I  may  not  be  the  first 
to  break  to  you  the  sad  news  of  Prescott's  death.  Yes,  he 
is  dead, — from  a  stroke  of  paralysis,  on  Friday  last  at  two 
o'clock.  Up  to  half  past  twelve  he  was  well,  and  occu 
pied  as  usual ;  at  two  he  was  dead.  We  shall  see  that 
cheerful,  sunny  face  no  more  !  Ah  me  !  what  a  loss  this 
is  to  us  all,  and  how  much  sunshine  it  will  take  out  of  the 
social  life  of  Boston  !  .  .  . 

Henry  D.  Thoreau   on  "  that  glorious  society  called 
Solitude"         <^       ^>       ^       <^x       ^*       -^ 

CONCORD,  January  i,  1859 

MR.  BLAKE,— 
...  I  have  lately  got  back  to  that  glorious  society 
called  Solitude,   where  we    meet   our  friends  continually, 
and   can    imagine   the  outside  world  also  to  be  peopled. 
Yet  some  of  my  acquaintance  would  fain  hustle  me  into 
the  almshouse  for  the  sake  of  society,  as  if  I  were  pining 
for  that  diet,  when  I  seem  to  myself  a  most   befriended 
150 


Indigestion  of  Society 

man,  and  find  constant  employment.  They  have  got  a 
club,1  the  handle  of  which  is  in  the  Parker  House  at 
Boston,  and  with  this  they  beat  me  from  time  to  time,  ex 
pecting  to  make  me  tender  or  minced  meat,  so  fit  for  a 
club  to  dine  off. 

"  Hercules  with  his  club 
The  Dragon  did  drub; 
But  More  of  More  Hall 
With  nothing  at  all, 
He  slew  the  Dragon  of  Wantley." 

Ah  !  that  More  of  More  Hall  knew  what  fair  play  was. 
Channing,  who  wrote  to  me  about  it  once,  brandishing  the 
club  vigorously  (being  set  on  by  another,  probably),  says 
now,  seriously,  he  is  sorry  to  find  by  my  letters  that  I  am 
"  absorbed  in  politics,"  and  adds,  begging  my  pardon  for 
his  plainness,  "  Beware  of  an  extraneous  life  !""  and  so  he 
does  his  duty,  and  washes  his  hands  of  me.  I  tell  him 
that  it  is  as  if  he  should  say  to  the  sloth,  that  fellow  that 
creeps  so  slowly  along  a  tree,  and  cries  ai  from  time  to 
time,  "  Beware  of  dancing  !  " 

The  doctors  are  all  agreed  that  I  am  suffering  for  want 
of  society.  Was  never  a  case  like  it.  First,  I  did  not 
know  that  I  was  suffering  at  all.  Secondly,  as  an  Irishman 
might  say,  I  had  thought  it  was  indigestion  of  the  society 
I  got. 

As  for  the  Parker  House,  I  went  there  once,  when  the 
Club  was  away,  but  I  found  it  hard  to  see  through  the  cigar 
smoke,  and  men  were  deposited  about  in  chairs  over  the 
marble  floor,  as  thick  as  legs  of  bacon  in  a  smoke-house. 
It  was  all  smoke,  and  no  salt,  Attic  or  other.  The  only 
room  in  Boston  which  I  visit  with  alacrity  is  the  Gentle 
men's  Room  at  the  Fitchburg  Depot,  where  I  wait  for  the 

1  The  Saturday  Club. 


The  Friendly   Craft 

cars,  sometimes  for  two  hours,  in  order  to  get  out  of  town. 
It  is  a  paradise  to  the  Parker  House,  for  no  smoking  is 
allowed,  and  there  is  far  more  retirement.  A  large  and 
respectable  club  of  us  hire  it  (Town  and  Country  Club), 
and  I  am  pretty  sure  to  find  some  one  there  whose  face  is 
set  the  same  way  as  my  own.  .  .  . 

Have  you  found  at  last  in  your  wanderings  a  place  where 
the  solitude  is  sweet  ? 

What  mountain  are  you  camping  on  nowadays  ?  Though 
I  had  a  good  time  at  the  mountains,  I  confess  that  the 
journey  did  not  bear  any  fruit  that  I  know  of.  I  did  not 
expect  it  would.  The  mode  of  it  was  not  simple  and  ad 
venturous  enough.  You  must  first  have  made  an  infinite 
demand,  and  not  unreasonably,  but  after  a  corresponding 
outlay,  have  an  all-absorbing  purpose,  and  at  the  same 
time  that  your  feet  bear  you  hither  and  thither,  travel  much 
more  in  imagination. 

To  let  the  mountains  slide,  —  live  at  home  like  a  traveler. 
It  should  not  be  in  vain  that  these  things  are  shown  us 
from  day  to  day.  Is  not  each  withered  leaf  that  I  see  in 
my  walks  something  which  I  have  traveled  to  find  ?  — 
traveled,  who  can  tell  how  far?  What  a  fool  he  must  be 
who  thinks  that  his  El  Dorado  is  anywhere  but  where  he 
lives !  .  .  . 

Henry  James,  Sr.,  regards  the  Saturday  Club  with  im 
perfect  seriousness        ^^>     ^^     ^^     ^x     ^> 

(To  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson) 

I  CANNOT  forbear  to  say  a  word  I  want  to  say  about 
Hawthorne  and  Ellery  Channing.     Hawthorne  isn't  a 
handsome  man,  nor  an  engaging  one,  personally.     He  has 
the  look  all  the  time,  to  one  who  doesn't  know  him,  of  a 
rogue  who  suddenly  finds  himself  in  a  company  of  detec- 
152 


Hawthorne  the   Only   Oasis 

tives.  But  in  spite  of  his  rusticity,  I  felt  a  sympathy  for 
him  amounting  to  anguish,  and  couldn't  take  my  eyes  off 
him  all  the  dinner,  nor  my  rapt  attention,  as  that  indeci 
sive  little found,  I  am  afraid,  to  his  cost,  for  I  hardly 

heard  a  word  of  what  he  kept  on  saying  to  me,  and  felt  at 
one  time  very  much  like  sending  down  to  Parker  to  have 
him  removed  from  the  room  as  maliciously  putting  his 
little  artificial  person  between  me  and  a  profitable  object 

of  study.     Yet  I  feel  now  no  ill-will  to  ,  and  could 

recommend  any  one  (but  myself)  to  go  and  hear  him 
preach.  Hawthorne,  however,  seemed  to  me  to  possess 
human  substance,  and  not  to  have  dissipated  it  all  away, 
as  that  debauched  X.  Y.  and  the  good,  inoffensive,  com 
forting  Longfellow.  He  seemed  much  nearer  the  human 
being  than  any  one  at  that  end  of  the  table,  —  much  nearer. 
John  Forbes  and  yourself  kept  up  the  balance  at  the  other 
end  ;  but  that  end  was  a  desert,  with  him  for  its  only  oasis. 
It  was  so  pathetic  to  see  him,  contented,  sprawling,  Con 
cord  owl  that  he  was  and  always  has  been,  brought  blind 
fold  into  the  brilliant  daylight,  and  expected  to  wink  and 
be  lively  like  any  little  dapper  Tommy  Titmouse  or  Jenny 
Wren.  How  he  buried  his  eyes  in  his  plate,  and  ate  with 
a  voracity  that  no  person  should  dare  to  ask  him  a  ques 
tion!  My  heart  broke  for  him  as  that  attenuated  X.  Y. 
kept  putting  forth  his  long  antennae  toward  him,  stroking 
his  face,  and  trying  whether  his  eyes  were  shut. 

The  idea  I  got  was,  and  it  was  very  powerfully  impressed 
on  me,  that  we  are  all  monstrously  corrupt,  hopelessly 
bereft  of  human  consciousness,  and  that  it  is  the  intention 
of  the  Divine  Providence  to  overrun  us  and  obliterate  us 
in  a  new  Gothic  and  Vandalic  invasion,  of  which  this  Con 
cord  specimen  is  a  first  fruit.  It  was  heavenly  to  see  him 
persist  in  ignoring  X.  Y.  and  shutting  his  eyes  against  his 
spectral  smiles;  eating  his  dinner  and  doing  absolutely 
153 


The  Friendly  Craft 

nothing  but  that,  and  then  going  home  to  his  Concord  den 
to  fall  on  his  knees  and  ask  his  Heavenly  Father  why  it 
was  that  an  owl  couldn't  remain  an  owl,  and  not  be  forced 
into  the  diversions  of  a  canary.  I  have  no  doubt  that  all 
the  tenderest  angels  saw  to  his  case  that  night,  and  poured 
oil  into  his  wounds  more  soothing  than  gentlemen  ever 
know. 

Ellery  Channing,  too,  seemed  so  human  and  good,  — 
sweet  as  sunshine,  and  fragrant  as  pine  woods.  He  is 
more  sophisticated  than  the  other,  of  course,  but  still  he 
was  kin ;  and  I  felt  the  world  richer  by  two  men  who  had 
not  yet  lost  themselves  in  mere  members  of  society.  This 
is  what  I  suspect,  —  that  we  are  fast  getting  so  fearful  one 
to  another,  we  members  of  society,  that  we  shall  ere  long 
begin  to  kill  one  another  in  self  defence,  and  give  place 
in  that  way  to  a  more  veracious  state  of  things.  The  old 
world  is  breaking  up  on  all  hands, — the  glimpse  of  the 
everlasting  granite  I  caught  in  Hawthorne  shows  me  that 
there  is  stock  enough  for  fifty  better.  Let  the  old  imposter 
go,  bag  and  baggage,  for  a  very  real  and  substantial  one  is 
aching  to  come  in,  in  which  the  churl  shall  not  be  exalted 
to  a  place  of  dignity,  in  which  innocence  shall  never  be 
tarnished  nor  trafficked  in,  in  which  every  man's  freedom 
shall  be  respected  down  to  its  feeblest  filament  as  the 
radiant  altar  of  God.  To  the  angels,  says  Swedenborg, 
Death  means  Resurrection  to  life ;  by  that  necessary  rule 
of  inversion  which  keeps  them  separate  from  us  and 
us  from  them,  and  so  prevents  our  being  mutual 
nuisances.  . 


154 


I 


A  Furious   Frank 

James  Russell  Lowell  speaks  French  too  politely     x^ 
(To  Edwin  Lawrence  Godkin) 

ELMWOOD,  2gth  Dec.,  1871 

WAS  to  have  started  last  Monday,  but  there 
is  a  furious  Frank  here  who  has  opened  a  school 
for  his  detestable  lingo  in  which  Mesdames  Lowell  and 
Gurney  are  pupils.  He  dines  with  us  on  alternate  Wednes 
days  and  compels  us  to  talk  French  till  we  are  black  in 
the  face.  Last  Wednesday  week  was  our  day  and  then 
came  a  fortnight  of  vacances.  As  I  pressed  his  hand  at 
parting,  of  course  I  told  him  that  we  should  be  glad 
to  see  him  during  that  halcyon  period,  and  murmured 
a  bientot  like  an  ass  as  I  was.  That  he  should  not  have 
perceived  that  I  was  talking  French  was  perhaps  excus 
able  enough,  but  that  he  should  take  what  I  said  in  a 
brutal  Anglo-Saxon  way  as  if  I  meant  it  —  that  I  cannot 
so  easily  forgive.  Anyhow,  he  told  Fanny  next  day  that 
he  should  have  the  happiness  of  accepting  my  ravishing 
invitation  for  the  next  Wednesday,  as  if  I  had  not  left 
the  matter  as  much  in  the  air  (to  use  their  own  phrase) 
as  a  balloon  that  may  come  down  weeks  away  from  where 
it  started.  So  there  I  was  planted  for  this  week.  If 
you  will  let  me  perch  with  you,  I  shall  come  next  Monday. 
Company  —  except  yours  and  that  of  two  or  three  more  — 
I  do  not  want  except  on  the  most  unvvhitechokery  terms 
and  I  come  on  the  express  understanding  that  you  are 
to  return  my  visit  in  the  course  of  the  winter.  .  .  . 


155 


I 


The  Friendly   Craft 

"The  changed  perspective"     >Qy    ^>    *^y    <^y    -o 

(John  G.  Whittier  to  Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps) 

4//z  mo.,  7,  1878 

AGREE  with  Canon  Farrar  that  "life  is  worth 
living,"  even  if  one  cannot  sleep  the  biggest  part 
of  it  away.  Thee  and  I  get  more  out  of  it,  after  all, 
than  those  "sleek-headed  folks  who  sleep  o1  nights.'1  .  .  . 
Against  all  my  natural  inclinations,  I  have  been  fighting 
for  the  "  causes,"  half  my  life.  "  Woe  is  me,  my  mother," 
I  can  say  with  the  old  prophet,  "  who  hast  borne  me  a 
man  of  strife  and  contention."  I  have  suffered  dreadfully 
from  coarseness,  self-seeking  vanity,  and  asinine  stupidity 
among  associates,  as  well  as  from  the  coldness  or  open 
hostility,  and,  worst,  the  ridicule  of  the  outside  world, 
but  I  now  see  that  it  was  best,  and  that  I  needed  it 
all.  .  .  . 

Mrs.  Briggs  listens  to  Phillips  Brooks     ^^     ^^     ^y 

ROXBURY,  January,  u,  1880 
rOW,  you  can't  guess  what  I  have  done  to-day, 


N( 


and  such  a  blessed  time  as  I  have  had  I  could 
never  tell  you  about.  I  announced  last  night  my  inten 
tion  to  hear  Phillips  Brooks  preach,  if  I  went  on  foot 
and  alone,  figuratively  speaking.  I  was  not  quite  so  saucy 
as  that,  but  I  was  emphatic  because  I  meant  to  do  it.  So 
it  was  all  nicely  arranged  ;  the  next-door  neighbor  having 
a  seat  there,  and  a  car  going  expressly  to  the  church, 
we  all  went  together ;  and  I  found  myself  in  the  beautiful 
church  in  a  pew  very  near  the  chancel,  so  there  could  be 
no  difficulty  about  hearing,  and  had  an  opportunity  to 
take  in  the  rich,  warm,  soft  coloring  and  the  whole  sub 
dued  tone  of  the  building  before  the  service  commenced. 
156 


So  Sweet  and  Tender 

It  was  very  lightly  trimmed  with  wreaths  of  evergreen, 
which  followed  the  outline  of  the  woodwork  so  closely 
that  it  did  not  interfere  at  all  with  any  architectural  effect, 
and  in  the  chancel  were  three  large  spruce-trees,  making 
the  three  points  of  a  triangle.  They  looked  as  if  they 
were  really  growing  there.  The  church  was  filled,  really 
full,  every  seat,  with  an  earnest-looking  congregation.  .  .  . 
The  music  was  good,  not  wonderful ;  but  the  sermon  was 
wonderful.  Why,  I  never  thought  I  could  at  my  age  be 
so  affected  by  any  sermon.  "A  little  child  shall  lead 
them,"  was  the  text.  I  should  not  dare  to  try  to  give 
you  any  idea  of  it ;  it  would  be  sacrilege ;  but  it  was 
as  warm  and  loving  as  any  Methodist  sermon,  devout 
enough  to  satisfy  a  Catholic,  and  broad  enough  to  satisfy 
any  decent  Radical.  Oh,  how  I  did  enjoy  it!  To  hear 
that  man  describe  the  leading  of  a  child!  —  that  lone, 
lorn  man,  without  wife  or  child.  I  don't  see  how  or  when 
he  learned  his  lesson.  It  was  so  sweet  and  tender!  Then 
he  made  me  feel  how  little  creeds  or  abstract  thoughts 
are  worth  unless  one  can  see  them  carried  out  in  human 
lives,  —  how  that  is  the  way  truth  must  reach  us  at  last, 
through  love  of  humanity,  and  from  that  love  up  to  God, 
through  our  elder  brother,  whom  the  preacher  made  no 
God,  nor  anything  else  we  could  not  understand,  but  a 
living,  loving  man,  who  lived  always  in  the  bosom  of 
the  Father.  Well,  I  felt  as  though  I  had  been  living  in 
another  world,  I  was  so  drawn  away  from  myself  by  those 
earnest  words,  and  Mr.  G.  said  I  made  the  whole  car 
full  of  people  listen  to  my  talk.  That  made  me  awfully 
ashamed,  but  you  see  1  never  thought  of  the  people  at 
all,  nor  of  anything  else  but  what  I  had  heard.  .  .  . 


157 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Mrs.  Longfellow  prefers  Henry's  friends  to  titled  folk 
STEAM  SHIP,  GERMAN  OCEAN, 
Thursday,  June  11  [1835] 

'E  have  some  very  pleasant  passengers.  A  Ger 
man  lady  with  her  father  and  little  girl.  What 
a  strange  idea  foreigners  have  of  America  !  This  lady  who 
appears  very  intelligent  asked  us  if  America  was  anything 
like  London ! !  Then  we  have  a  German  prince  with  huge 
mustachios ;  Clara  played  whist  with  him  last  evening ! 
Oh  dear  !  I  do  not  know  as  I  shall  be  able  to  speak  to  you 
when  I  return,  I  see  so  many  lords  and  ladies  !  but  in 
reality  these  lords  and  ladies  are  not  half  as  agreeable 
people  as  some  of  Henry's  literary  friends.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Carlyle  have  more  genuine  worth  and  talent  than  half  of 
the  nobility  in  London.  Mr.  Carlyle's  literary  fame  is  very 
high,  and  she  is  a  very  talented  woman  —  but  they  are 
people  after  my  own  heart  —  not  the  least  pretension  about 
them.  Mrs.  Carlyle  has  a  pin  with  Goethe's  head  upon  it, 
which  that  great  author  sent  her  himself.  She  is  very 
proud  of  it  I  assure  you.  They  live  very  retired,  not  wish 
ing  to  mix  with  fashionable  society,  which  they  regard  in 
its  true  light  ;  still  they  have  some  friends  among  the 
nobility  who  know  how  to  value  them.  .  .  . 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  commends  Margaret  Fuller  to 
Thomas  and  Jane  Carlyle      -<^>-      *^      ^>      ^c^ 

CONCORD,  Qjidy,  1846 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  The  new  edition  of  Cromwell 
in  its  perfect  form  and  in  excellent  dress,  and  the 
copy  of  the  Appendix,  came  munificently  safe  by  the  last 
steamer.     When  thought  is  best,  then  is  there  most,  —  is 
a  faith  of  which  you  alone  among  writing  men  at  this  day 
158 


An  Exotic  in  New  England 

will  give  me  experience.  If  it  is  the  right  frankincense 
and  sandal-wood,  it  is  so  good  and  heavenly  to  give  me  a 
basketful  and  not  a  pinch.  I  read  proudly,  a  little  at  a 
time,  and  have  not  yet  got  through  the  new  matter.  But 
I  think  neither  the  new  letters  nor  the  commentary  could 
be  spared.  Wiley  and  Putnam  shall  do  what  they  can, 
and  we  will  see  if  New  England  will  not  come  to  reckon 
this  the  best  chapter  in  her  Pentateuch. 

I  send  this  letter  by  Margaret  Fuller,  of  whose  approach 
I  believe  I  wrote  you  some  word.  There  is  no  foretelling 
how  you  visited  and  crowded  English  will  like  our  few 
educated  men  or  women,  and  in  your  learned  populace  my 
luminaries  may  easily  be  overlooked.  But  of  all  the 
travellers  whom  you  have  so  kindly  received  from  me, 
I  think  of  none,  since  Alcott  went  to  England,  whom  I  so 
much  desired  that  you  should  see  and  like,  as  this  dear  old 
friend  of  mine.  For  two  years  now  I  have  scarcely  seen 
her,  as  she  has  been  at  New  York,  engaged  by  Horace 
Greeley  as  a  literary  editor  of  his  Tribune  newspaper. 
This  employment  was  made  acceptable  to  her  by  good 
pay,  great  local  and  personal  conveniences  of  all  kinds, 
and  unbounded  confidence  and  respect  from  Greeley  him 
self,  and  all  other  parties  connected  with  this  influential 
journal  (of  30,000  subscribers,  I  believe).  And  Margaret 
Fuller's  work  as  critic  of  all  new  books,  critic  of  the  drama, 
of  music,  and  good  arts  in  New  York,  has  been  honorable 
to  her.  Still  this  employment  is  not  satisfactory  to  me. 
She  is  full  of  all  nobleness,  and  with  the  generosity  native 
to  her  mind  and  character  appears  to  me  an  exotic  in  New 
England,  a  foreigner  from  some  more  sultry  and  expansive 
climate.  She  is,  I  suppose,  the  earliest  reader  and  lover 
of  Goethe  in  this  Country,  and  nobody  here  knows  him  so 
well.  Her  love  too  of  whatever  is  good  in  French,  and 
specially  in  Italian  genius,  give  her  the  best  title  to  travel. 
'59 


The  Friendly  Craft 

In  short,  she  is  our  citizen  of  the  world  by  quite  special 
diploma.  And  I  am  heartily  glad  that  she  has  an  oppor 
tunity  of  going  abroad  that  pleases  her. 

Mr.  Spring,  a  merchant  of  great  moral  merits,  (and,  as 
I  am  informed,  an  assiduous  reader  of  your  books,)  has 
grown  rich,  and  resolves  to  see  the  world  with  his  wife  and 
son,  and  has  wisely  invited  Miss  Fuller  to  show  it  to  him. 
Now,  in  the  first  place,  I  wish  you  to  see  Margaret  when 
you  are  in  special  good  humor,  and  have  an  hour  of  bound 
less  leisure.  And  I  entreat  Jane  Carlyle  to  abet  and 
exalt  and  secure  this  satisfaction  to  me.  I  need  not,  and 
yet  perhaps  I  need  say,  that  M.  F.  is  the  safest  of  all  pos 
sible  persons  who  ever  took  pen  in  hand.  Prince  Metter- 
nich's  closet  not  closer  or  half  so  honorable.  In  the  next 
place,  I  should  be  glad  if  you  can  easily  manage  to  show 
her  the  faces  of  Tennyson  and  of  Browning.  She  has  a 
sort  of  right  to  them  both,  not  only  because  she  likes  their 
poetry,  but  because  she  has  made  their  merits  widely 
known  among  our  young  people.  And  be  it  known  to  my 
friend  Jane  Carlyle,  whom,  if  I  cannot  see,  I  delight  to 
name,  that  her  visitor  is  an  immense  favorite  in  the  parlor, 
as  well  as  in  the  library,  in  all  good  houses  where  she  is 
known.  And  so  I  commend  her  to  you. 
Yours  affectionately, 

R.  W.  EMERSON 

Miss  Fuller  goes  accordingly  and  communicates  the 


(To  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson) 

PARIS,  Dec.,  1846 

'   '  '     A  CCUSTOMED  to  tne  infinite  wit  and  exuberant 
**•   richness  of  his  [Carlyle's]  writings,  his  talk  is 
still  an  amazement  and  a  splendor  scarcely  to  be  faced  with 
1  60 


Heroic  Arrogance 

steady  eyes.  He  does  not  converse;  —  only  harangues. 
It  is  the  usual  misfortune  of  such  marked  men, —  happily 
not  one  invariable  or  inevitable,  —  that  they  cannot  allow 
other  minds  room  to  breathe,  and  show  themselves  in 
their  atmosphere,  and  thus  miss  the  refreshment  and 
instruction  which  the  greatest  never  cease  to  need  from 
the  experience  of  the  humblest.  Carlyle  allows  no  one  a 
chance,  but  bears  down  all  opposition,  not  only  by  his  wit 
and  onset  of  words,  resistless  in  their  sharpness  as  so 
many  bayonets,  but  by  actual  physical  superiority, — 
raising  his  voice,  and  rushing  on  his  opponent  with  a 
torrent  of  sound.  This  is  not  in  the  least  from  unwilling 
ness  to  allow  freedom  to  others.  On  the  contrary,  no 
man  would  more  enjoy  a  manly  resistance  to  his  thought. 
But  it  is  the  habit  of  a  mind  accustomed  to  follow  out  its 
own  impulse,  as  the  hawk  its  prey,  and  which  knows  not 
how  to  stop  in  the  chase.  Carlyle,  indeed,  is  arrogant  and 
overbearing ;  but  in  his  arrogance  there  is  no  littleness.  — 
no  self-love.  It  is  the  heroic  arrogance  of  some  old  Scan 
dinavian  conqueror; — it  is  his  nature,  and  the  untamable 
energy  that  has  given  him  power  to  crush  the  dragons. 
You  do  not  love  him,  perhaps,  nor  revere ;  and  perhaps, 
also,  he  would  only  laugh  at  you  if  you  did ;  but  you  like 
him  heartily,  and  like  to  see  him  the  powerful  smith,  the 
Siegfried,  melting  all  the  old  iron  in  his  furnace  till  it 
glows  to  a  sunset  red,  and  burns  you,  if  you  senselessly 
go  too  near.  He  seems,  to  me,  quite  isolated,  —  lonely  as 
the  desert,  —  yet  never  was  a  man  more  fitted  to  prize  a 
man,  could  he  find  one  to  match  his  mood.  He  finds 
them,  but  only  in  the  past.  He  sings,  rather  than  talks. 
He  pours  upon  you  a  kind  of  satirical,  heroical,  critical 
poem,  with  regular  cadences,  and  generally,  near  the 
beginning  hits  upon  some  singular  epithet,  which  serves 
as  a  refrain  when  his  song  is  full,  or  with  which,  as  with 
M  161 


The  Friendly  Craft 

a  knitting  needle,  he  catches  up  the  stitches,  if  he  has 
chanced,  now  and  then,  to  let  fall  a  row.  For  the  higher 
kinds  of  poetry  he  has  no  sense,  and  his  talk  on  that  sub 
ject  is  delightfully  and  gorgeously  absurd.  He  sometimes 
stops  a  minute  to  laugh  at  it  himself,  then  begins  anew 
with  fresh  vigor;  for  all  the  spirits  he  is  driving  before 
him  seem  to  him  as  Fata  Morgana,  ugly  masks,  in  fact,  if 
he  can  but  make  them  turn  about ;  but  he  laughs  that  they 
seem  to  others  such  dainty  Ariels.  His  talk,  like  his 
books,  is  full  of  pictures ;  his  critical  strokes  masterly. 
Allow  for  his  point  of  view,  and  his  survey  is  admirable. 
He  is  a  large  subject.  I  cannot  speak  more  or  wiselier  of 
him  now,  nor  needs  it ;  —  his  works  are  true,  to  blame  and 
praise  him,  —  the  Siegfried  of  England,  —  great  and  power 
ful,  if  not  quite  invulnerable,  and  of  a  might  rather  to 
destroy  evil,  than  legislate  for  good.  .  .  . 

After  fourteen  years  Emerson  and  Carlyle  are  "  shov 
elled  together  again "  ^v      x^x      <^>      ^y      *^y 

(Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  to  his  wife) 

CHELSEA,  LONDON,  October  27,  1847 

DEAR  LIDIAN  :  .  .  .  I  found  at  Liverpool  after  a 
couple  of  days  a  letter  which  had  been  once  there 
seeking  me  (and  once  returned  to  Manchester  before  it 
reached  my  hands)  from  Carlyle,  addressed  to  "  R.  W.  E., 
on  the  instant  he  lands  in  England,1'  conveying  so  hearty 
a  welcome  and  so  urgent  an  invitation  to  house  and  hearth 
that  I  could  no  more  resist  than  I  could  gravitation ;  and 
finding  that  I  should  not  be  wanted  for  a  week  in  the  lec 
ture-rooms,  I  came  hither  on  Monday,  and,  at  ten  at  night, 
the  door  was  opened  to  me  by  Jane  Carlyle,  and  the  man 
himself  was  behind  her  with  a  lamp  in  the  entry.  They 
162 


Large  Communication 

were  very  little  changed  from  their  old  selves  of  fourteen 
years  ago  (in  August),  when  I  left  them  at  Craigenput- 
tock.  "  Well/^  said  Carlyle,  "  here  we  are,  shovelled 
together  again."  The  floodgates  of  his  talk  are  quickly 
opened,  and  the  river  is  a  great  and  constant  stream.  We 
had  large  communication  that  night  until  nearly  one 
o'clock,  and  at  breakfast  next  morning  it  began  again.  At 
noon  or  later  we  went  together,  Carlyle  and  I,  to  Hyde 
Park  and  the  palaces  (about  two  miles  from  here),  to  the 
National  Gallery,  and  to  the  Strand,  —  Carlyle  melting  all 
Westminster  and  London  down  into  his  talk  and  laughter 
as  he  walked.  We  came  back  to  dinner  at  five  or  later ; 
then  Dr.  Carlyle  came  in  and  spent  the  evening,  which 
again  was  long  by  the  clock,  but  had  no  other  measures. 
Here  in  this  house  we  breakfast  about  nine  ;  Carlyle  is 
very  apt,  his  wife  says,  to  sleep  till  ten  or  eleven,  if  he  has 
no  company.  An  immense  talker  he  is,  and  altogether  as 
extraordinary  in  his  conversation  as  in  his  writing,  —  I 
think  even  more  so.  You  will  never  discover  his  real 
vigor  and  range,  or  how  much  more  he  might  do  than  he 
has  ever  done,  without  seeing  him.  I  find  my  few  hours' 
discourse  with  him  in  Scotland,  long  since,  gave  me  not 
enough  knowledge  of  him,  and  I  have  now  at  last  been 
taken  by  surprise.  .  .  .  Carlyle  and  his  wife  live  on  beau 
tiful  terms.  Nothing  can  be  more  engaging  than  their 
ways,  and  in  her  bookcase  all  his  books  are  inscribed 
to  her,  as  they  came,  from  year  to  year,  each  with  some 
significant  lines.  .  .  . 

November  I,  Tuesday  evening.  —  I  am  heartily  tired  of 
Liverpool.  I  am  oppressed  by  the  seeing  of  such  multi 
tudes  :  there  is  a  fierce  strength  here  in  all  the  streets ; 
the  men  are  bigger  and  solider  far  than  our  people,  more 
stocky,  both  men  and  women,  and  with  a  certain  fixedness 
and  determination  in  each  person's  air,  that  discriminates 
163 


The  Friendly   Craft 

them  from  the  sauntering  gait  and  roving  eyes  of  Ameri 
cans.  In  America  you  catch  the  eye  of  every  one  you 
meet ;  here  you  catch  no  eye,  almost.  The  axes  of  an 
Englishman's  eyes  are  united  to  his  backbone.  .  .  .  Yes 
terday  morning  I  got  your  welcome  letter  (by  Mr.  Ireland). 
I  am  greatly  contented  to  know  that  all  is  so  well  with 
you.  .  .  . 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 

WALDO  E. 

Charles  Sumner  sees  the  Queen  open  Parliament,  and 
finds  Macaulay  oppressive     <^>     <^     *^y     *o> 

(To  George  S.  Hillard) 
TRAVELLERS',  [LONDON,]  Feb.  16,  1839 

DEAR  HILLARD,  —Perhaps  this  is  my  last  greeting 
from  London  ;  and  yet  it  is  hard  to  tear  myself 
away,  so  connected  by  friendship  and  by  social  ties  have 
I  become  with  this  great  circle  ;  and  1  will  not  venture 
to  write  down  the  day  when  I  shall  leave.  My  last  was 
a  volume  rather  than  a  letter;  and  I  have  again  such  stores 
to  communicate  as  to  call  for  another  volume.  Parliament 
is  now  open,  and  I  have  been  a  constant  attendant  ;  but 
I  will  first  tell  you  of  its  opening  and  of  the  speech  of 
the  Queen.  I  was  accommodated  through  the  kindness 
of  Lord  Morpeth  with  a  place  at  the  bar,  —  perhaps  it  was 
the  best  place  occupied  by  any  person  not  in  court  dress. 
Behind  me  was  the  Prince  Louis  Bonaparte.  It  was  a 
splendid  sight,  as  at  the  coronation,  to  watch  the  peer 
esses  as  they  took  their  seats  in  full  dress,  resplendent 
with  jewels  and  costly  ornaments  ;  and  from  the  smallness 
of  the  room  all  were  within  a  short  distance.  The  room 
of  the  House  of  Lords  is  a  little  longer  but  not  so  wide  as 
164 


Although  a  Queen,  a  Woman 

our  College  Chapel,  at  Cambridge.  The  Queen  entered, 
attended  by  the  great  officers  of  state,  with  her  heavy 
crown  on  her  head,  the  great  guns  sounding,  and  the 
trumpets  adding  to  the  glow  of  the  scene.  She  took  her 
seat  with  sufficient  dignity,  and  in  an  inaudible  voice 
directed  the  Commons  to  be  summoned.  In  the  mean 
time,  all  eyes  were  directed  to  her.  Her  countenance 
was  flushed,  her  hands  moved  on  the  golden  arms  of  the 
throne,  and  her  fingers  twitched  in  her  gloves.  There 
she  was,  a  Queen;  but  a  Queen's  nerves  and  heart  are 
those  of  a  woman,  and  she  showed  that  little  nervousness 
and  restlessness  which  amply  vindicated  her  sympathy 
with  us  all.  And  yet  she  bore  herself  well,  and  many, 
whose  eyes  were  not  as  observing  as  you  know  mine  are, 
did  not  note  these  pleasing  tokens.  I  was  glad  to  see 
them,  more  by  far  than  if  she  had  sat  as  if  cut  in  alabas 
ter.  The  Commons  came  in  with  a  thundering  rush,  their 
Speaker  at  their  head.  Her  Majesty  then  commenced 
reading  her  speech  which  had  been  previously  handed  to 
her  by  the  Lord  Chancellor.  It  was  a  quarter  or  a  third 
through  before  she  seemed  to  get  her  voice  so  that  I  could 
understand  her.  In  the  paragraph  about  Belgium,  I  first 
caught  all  that  she  said,  and  every  word  of  the  rest  of  her 
speech  came  to  me  in  as  silver  accents  as  I  have  ever 
heard.  You  well  know  I  had  no  predisposition  to  admire 
the  Queen,  or  anything  that  proceeds  from  her;  but  her 
reading  has  conquered  my  judgment.  I  was  astonished 
and  delighted.  Her  voice  was  sweet,  and  finely  modu 
lated,  and  she  pronounced  every  word  slowly  and  dis 
tinctly,  with  a  just  regard  to  its  meaning.  I  think  I  have 
never  heard  anything  better  read  in  my  life  than  was  her 
speech  ;  and  I  could  but  respond  to  Lord  Fitzwilliam's 
remark  to  me  when  the  ceremony  was  over,  "  How  beauti 
fully  she  performs  ! "  .  .  . 

165 


The  Friendly  Craft 

At  dinner  Adolphus  was  as  quiet  as  usual,  —  you  know 
him  as  the  friend  of  Scott,  —  and  Macaulay  was  truly 
oppressive.  I  now  understand  Sydney  Smith,  who  called 
Macaulay  a  tremendous  machine  for  colloquial  oppression. 
His  memory  is  prodigious,  surpassing  any  thing  I  have 
ever  known,  and  he  pours  out  its  stores  with  an  instruc 
tive  but  dinning  prodigality.  He  passes  from  the  minutest 
dates  of  English  history  or  biography  to  a  discussion  of 
the  comparative  merits  of  different  ancient  orators,  and 
gives  you  whole  strophes  from  the  dramatists  at  will.  He 
can  repeat  every  word  of  every  article  he  has  written,  with 
out  prompting  :  but  he  has  neither  grace  of  body,  face,  nor 
voice  ;  he  is  without  intonation  or  variety  ;  and  he  pours 
on  like  Horace's  river,  while  we,  poor  rustics,  foolishly 
think  he  will  cease  ;  and  if  you  speak,  he  does  not  respond 
to  what  you  say,  but,  while  your  last  words  are  yet  on 
your  lips,  takes  up  again  his  wondrous  tale.  He  will  not 
confess  ignorance  of  any  thing,  though  I  verily  believe 
that  no  man  would  ever  have  less  occasion  to  make  the 
confession.  I  have  heard  him  called  the  most  remarkable 
person  of  his  age  ;  and  again  the  most  overrated.  .  .  . 


Washington  Irving  visits  Mr.  Scott  at  Abbotsford    -<^> 
(To  Peter  Irving) 

ABBOTSFORD,  Sept,  i,  1817 

MY  DEAR  BROTHER: 
I    have   barely  time   to   scrawl   a  line    before   the 
gossoon  goes  off  with  the  letters  to  the  neighboring  post- 
office.  .  .  . 

On  Friday,  in  spite  of  sullen,  gloomy  weather,  I  mounted 
the  top  of  the  mail  coach,  and  rattled  off  to  Selkirk.     It 
rained  heavily  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon,  and  drove 
1 66 


Scott's  Golden   Heart 

me  inside.  On  Saturday  morning  early  I  took  chaise 
for  Melrose  ;  and  on  the  way  stopped  at  the  gate  of 
Abbotsford,  and  sent  in  my  letter  of  introduction,  with 
a  request  to  know  whether  it  would  be  agreeable  for  Mr. 
Scott  to  receive  a  visit  from  me  in  the  course  of  the  day. 
The  glorious  old  minstrel  himself  came  limping  to  the 
gate,  took  me  by  the  hand  in  a  way  that  made  me  feel 
as  if  we  were  old  friends  ;  in  a  moment  I  was  seated 
at  his  hospitable  board  among  his  charming  little  family, 
and  here  have  I  been  ever  since.  I  had  intended  certainly 
being  back  to  Edinburgh  to-day,  (Monday,)  but  Mr.  Scott 
wishes  me  to  stay  until  Wednesday,  that  we  may  make 
excursions  to  Dryburgh  Abbey,  Yarrow,  &c.,  as  the 
weather  has  held  up  and  the  sun  begins  to  shine.  I 
cannot  tell  how  truly  I  have  enjoyed  the  hours  I  have 
passed  here.  They  fly  by  too  quick,  yet  each  is  loaded 
with  story,  incident,  or  song  ;  and  when  I  consider  the 
world  of  ideas,  images,  and  impressions  that  have  been 
crowded  upon  my  mind  since  I  have  been  here,  it  seems 
incredible  that  I  should  only  have  been  two  days  at 
Abbotsford.  I  have  rambled  about  the  hills  with  Scott ; 
visited  the  haunts  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  and  other  spots 
rendered  classic  by  border  tale  and  witching  song,  and 
have  been  in  a  kind  of  dream  or  delirium. 

As  to  Scott,  I  cannot  express  my  delight  at  his  char 
acter  and  manners.  He  is  a  sterling  golden-hearted  old 
worthy,  full  of  the  joyousness  of  youth,  with  an  imagina 
tion  continually  furnishing  forth  picture,  and  a  charming 
simplicity  of  manner  that  puts  you  at  ease  with  him  in  a 
moment.  It  has  been  a  constant  source  of  pleasure  to  me 
to  remark  his  deportment  towards  his  family,  .his  neigh 
bors,  his  domestics,  his  very  dogs  and  cats  ;  every  thing 
that  comes  within  his  influence  seems  to  catch  a  beam  of 
that  sunshine  that  plays  round  his  heart  ;  but  I  shall  say 
167 


The  Friendly  Craft 


more  of  him  hereafter,  for  he  is  a  theme  on  which  I  shall 
love  to  dwell.  .  .  . 

Your  affectionate  brother, 

W.  I. 

P.S.  —  This  morning  we  ride  to  Dryburgh  Abbey  and 
see  also  the  old  Earl  of  Buchan  —  who,  you  know,  is  a 
queer  one.  .  .  . 

Later  he  meets  Sir  Walter  in  London    ^y      ^>      <^y 
(To  James  K.  Paulding) 

LONDON,  May  27,  1820 

MY  DEAR  JAMES  : 
.  .  .  Scott,  or  Sir  Walter  Scott,  as  he  is  now 
called,  passed  some  few  weeks  in  town  lately,  on  coming 
up  for  his  baronetcy.  I  saw  him  repeatedly,  having 
formed  an  acquaintance  with  him  two  or  three  years  since 
at  his  country  retreat  on  the  Tweed.  He  is  a  man  that, 
if  you  knew,  you  would  love ;  a  right  honest-hearted,  gen 
erous-spirited  being ;  without  vanity,  affectation,  or  as 
sumption  of  any  kind.  He  enters  into  every  passing  scene 
or  passing  pleasure  with  the  interest  and  simple  enjoy 
ment  of  a  child  ;  nothing  seems  too  high  or  remote  for  the 
grasp  of  his  mind,  and  nothing  too  trivial  or  low  for  the 
kindness  and  pleasantry  of  his  spirit.  When  I  was  in 
want  of  literary  counsel  and  assistance,  Scott  was  the  only 
literary  man  to  whom  I  felt  that  I  could  talk  about  myself 
and  my  petty  concerns  with  the  confidence  and  freedom 
that  I  would  to  an  old  friend —  nor  was  I  deceived  —  from 
the  first  moment  that  I  mentioned  my  work  to  him  in  a 
letter,  he  took  a  decided  and  effective  interest  in  it,  and 
has  been  to  me  an  invaluable  friend.  It  is  only  astonish 
ing  how  he  finds  time,  with  such  ample  exercise  of  the 
pen,  to  attend  so  much  to  the  interests  and  concerns  of 
1 68 


The  Baths  of  Lucca 

others ;  but  no  one  ever  applied  to  Scott  for  any  aid, 
counsel,  or  service  that  would  cost  time  and  trouble,  that 
was  not  most  cheerfully  and  thoroughly  assisted.  Life 
passes  away  with  him  in  a  round  of  good  offices  and 
social  enjoyments.  Literature  seems  his  sport  rather 
than  his  labor  or  his  ambition,  and  I  never  met  with  an 
author  so  completely  void  of  all  the  petulance,  egotism, 
and  peculiarities  of  the  craft;  but  I  am  running  into 
prolixity  about  Scott,  who  I  confess  has  completely  won 
my  heart,  even  more  as  a  man  than  as  an  author;  so, 
praying  God  to  bless  him,  we  will  change  the  sub 
ject.  .  .  . 

Affectionately  your  friend, 

W.  IRVING 

Peter,  who  is  sitting  by  me.  desires  me  to  remember  him 
most  heartily  to  you  and  Gertrude. 

The    Storys   care    for    no   society  but    that   of    the 
Brownings    -^    <^    <^     ^v      ^>      ^>      ^> 
(William  Wetmore  Story  to  James  Russell  Lowell) 
BAGNA  DI  LUCCA,  Aug.  roth,  1853 

WE  are  all  at  the  Baths  of  Lucca  now,  high  up 
on  the  hills,  amid  the  thick  chestnut-trees, 
retired  from  the  bustle  of  the  Ponte  below,  where  gossip 
simmers  round  the  cafe,  and  we  are  living  the  most  dolce 
far  niente  of  lives.  The  place  is  beautiful.  All  about  us 
tower  the  mountains,  terraced  with  vines  and  noble  groups 
of  chestnuts,  and  through  the  valley  below  sings  our 
mountain-brook  river  as  it  sweeps  under  its  one-arched 
bridges,  turns  picturesque  mills,  and  goes  winding  along 
through  its  rocky  bed  to  the  Mediterranean.  Every 
evening  we  drive  along  the  richly-wooded  banks  of  the 
wild,  roaring  Lima,  or  else  beside  the  rushing  Serchio, 
169 


The  Friendly  Craft 

where  Shelley  used  to  push  his  little  boat,  to  the  Devil's 
Bridge.  I  have  never  lived  an  idler  life.  While  the  wind 
blows  through  the  windows  coolly  \ve  sit  and  read  and 
fall  asleep  over  our  books  —  and  feel  intensely  virtuous 
when  we  achieve  a  letter.  Of  society  there  is  none  we 
care  to  meet  but  the  Brownings,  who  are  living  here. 
With  them  we  have  constant  and  delightful  intercourse, 
interchanging  long  evenings  together  two  or  three  times 
a-week,  and  driving  and  walking  whenever  we  can  meet. 
We  like  them  very  much  —  they  are  so  simple,  unaffected 
and  sympathetic.  Both  are  busily  engaged  in  writing,  he 
on  a  new  volume  of  lyrical  poems  and  she  on  a  tale  or 
novel  in  verse.  .  .  .  Both  B.  and  his  wife  seem  greatly 
to  have  taken  to  you  and  M.,  and  we  all  join  in  standing 
on  the  ramparts  and  waving  our  handkerchiefs  for  you  to 
return.  .  .  . 


Pictures,  the  Brownings,  and  supper  at  Evans's        "^ 

(Thomas  Gold  Appleton  to  Henry  W.  Longfellow,  from 
London,  1856) 

.  .  .  TMAGINE  what  zeal,  patience,  boldness,  and  love 
•*•  of  Nature  are  in  these  [pre-Raphaelite]  pictures ; 
and  with  these  the  Anglo-Saxon  awkwardness,  crudity,  and 
poor  sentiment.  Still,  after  seeing  the  Vernon  collection, 
one  can't  but  think  better  and  better  of  the  direction  of  the 
new  school.  One  thing  I  find  not  stated  of  it,  —  how  much 
it  owes  to  the  daguerrotype.  The  fine,  minute  finish,  and 
the  breadth  at  the  same  time  they  give ;  and  absolutely 
they  manage  to  have  the  same  defects,  —  edginess  and 
want  of  roundness.  I  met  the  Brownings  at  the  Gallery 
yesterday,  and  put  them  on  the  way  to  see  Hilary  Curtis's 
picture,  which  I  hunted  up.  The  Brownings  are  a  happy 
170 


A  Concentrated  Nightingale 

couple,  —  happy  in  their  affection  and  their  genius.  He  is 
a  fine,  fresh,  open  nature,  full  of  life  and  spring,  and  evi 
dently  has  little  of  the  dreamy  element  of  Wordsworth  and 
others.  She  is  a  little  concentrated  nightingale,  living  in  a 
bower  of  curls,  her  heart  throbbing  against  the  bars  of  the 
world.  I  called  on  them,  and  she  looked  at  me  wistfully, 
as  she  believes  in  the  Spirits  and  had  heard  of  me.  Lady 
Byron,  too,  has  sent  for  me  to  talk  about  it ;  but  I  do  not 
know  that  I  shall  find  time  to  go.  Lowell  has  turned  up, 
and  after  dining  with  the  Storys  and  myself  at  a  grand 
dinner  at  Sturgis's  the  day  before,  they  spent  the  day  with 
me  and  dined,  and  to-night  I  am  to  join  them  at  Windsor. 
I  hear  of  dear  old  T.  Kensett  and  Taylor,  but  have  not  got 
at  them.  Hazard  is  on  the  horizon.  I  wonder  if  he  will 
walk  the  coast,  as  he  proposed.  Ticknor  looks  wonderfully 
natural  in  the  Twistleton  house.  It  has  a  library,  the  his 
toric  background  for  him,  and  the  Dwight  Allston,  looking 
well.  He  invited,  the  other  day,  Mackintosh  and  myself 
to  meet  Thackeray.  It  was  very  pleasant.  Thackeray 
seemed  to  remember  the  Yankee  sunshine,  and  expanded, 
and  looked  well,  though  but  lately  recovering  from  an  ill 
ness.  He  proposed  going  to  Evans's  after  the  dinner ;  so 
Mackintosh  drove  us  down.  The  proprietor  made  great 
ado  and  honor.  The  same  scene  Hawthorne  described  to 
you  was  enacted.  We  had  a  seat  of  honor  at  the  head  of 
the  table,  and  nice  copies  of  the  songs  were  given  us. 
Much  mention  was  made  of  you,  and  the  earnest  request 
that  you  would  favor  by  a  visit  when  you  come  to  England. 
It  was  fun.  The  head  was  a  character  worthy  of  Dickens. 
In  the  midst  of  beefsteaks  and  tobacco  he  dilated  on  the 
charms  of  early  editions,  and  showed  us  some.  Deprecat 
ing  the  character  of  the  music,  he  nudged  me  and  said, 
that,  like  myself,  he  should  prefer  Beethoven  and  Mozart 
but  if  he  gave  them  he  should  starve.  The  singing  was 
171 


The  Friendly  Craft 

chiefly  comic,  and  not  bad  ;  but  one  French  piece,  by  some 
sixteen  juveniles,  had  a  lovely  boy  with  a  lovely  voice 
piping  clear,  sweet,  and  high,  like  a  lark,  Thackeray  was  in 
raptures  with  that  boy.  Thackeray  called  on  me,  and  I 
must  try  to  find  him.  He  lives  in  a  very  pretty  square  not 
far  from  Ticknor1s.  Mackintosh  and  I  have  driven  down 
to  Chelsea ;  missed  Carlyle.  There  is  a  good,  fierce  picture 
of  him  in  the  Exhibition. 

I  very  much  wish  you  were  here.  I  am  for  the  Continent, 
and  want  a  party.  Had  a  long  talk  with  J.  P.  K.  on  poli 
tics  ;  Southern  view  ;  gave  him  a  Northern  one  ;  delighted 
probably  with  each  other.  We  now  hear  that  Sumner  is 
worse.  Truly  I  hope  that  is  not  so.  There  is  heat  enough 
in  the  contest  already,  without  any  more  disaster  in  that 
direction.  If  he  should  die,  Achilles  would  rage  in  the 
Trojan  trenches. 

Love  to  dearest  F.,  and  say  how  much  we  all  wish  you 
were  here,  and  what  a  bumper  you  would  have.  .  .  . 

John    Lothrop    Motley   feels  "  like  a  donkey "  when 
complimented  by  a  great  lady      <^  ^>  ^>  ^> 

(To  his  wife) 

LONDON, 
May  28th,  1858 

MY   DEAREST   MARY,  —  .  .  .    I  believe  you  have 
never  seen  Thackeray.     He  has  the  appearance  of  a 
colossal  infant,  smooth,  white,  shiny  ringlety  hair,  flaxen, 
alas,  with  advancing  years,  a  roundish  face,  with  a  little 
dab  of  a  nose  upon  which  it  is  a  perpetual  wonder  how  he 
keeps  his  spectacles,  a  sweet  but  rather  piping  voice,  with 
something  of  the  childish  treble  about  it,  and  a  very  tall, 
slightly  stooping  figure — such  are  the    characteristics  of 
the  great  "  snob  "  of  England.     His  manner  is  like  that  of 
172 


Blushing  like  a  Peony 

everybody  else  in  England  —  nothing  original,  all  planed 
down  into  perfect  uniformity  with  that  of  his  fellow- 
creatures.  .  .  . 

On    Thursday,  according  to   express   and   very  urgent 

invitation,  I  went  with  Mrs.  Amory  and  S to  call  at  the 

Lyndhursts1.  As  soon  as  I  got  into  the  room  Lady  L. 
opened  upon  me  such  a  torrent  of  civilities  that  I  was 
nearly  washed  away.  I  certainly  should  not  repeat,  even 
to  you,  and  even  if  I  remembered  it,  the  particular  phrase 
ology.  ...  I  would  no  more  write  such  things,  even  to 
my  mother,  than  I  would  go  and  stand  on  my  head  in 
the  middle  of  Pall  Mall.  I  feel  like  a  donkey,  and  am 
even  now  blushing  unseen,  like  a  peony  or  any  other 
delicate  flower,  at  the  very  idea  of  writing  such  trash, 
and  I  beg  that  you  will  thrust  my  letter  into  the  fire  at 
once.  .  .  .  God  bless  you,  dearest  Mary ;  kiss  my  dar 
ling  children,  and  believe  in  the  love  of 

Your  affectionate, 

J.  L.  M. 

From   the  "  Correspondence   of  John   Lothrop  Motley,"  edited  by  George 
William  Curtis.     Copyright,  1889,  by  J.  Lewis  Stackpole. 

Bayard  Taylor  hears  Tennyson  read  "  The  Idylls  of 
the  King,"  and  likes  Matthew  Arnold  at  first  sight 

GOTH  A,  GERMANY,  March  11,  1867 

WE   landed   at    Southampton  in  heavenly  May 
weather,  and  I  determined  to  visit  Farring- 
ford  before  going  on  to  London.     So  I  wrote  at  once  to 
Tennyson,  proposing    a   visit  of  an  hour  or  two.     Next 
morning  came  a  friendly  reply  from  Mrs.  T.,  saying  that 
there  was  a  room  ready  for  us,  and  we  must  make  a  longer 
visit.     M.  and  I  crossed  to  Cowes  and  Newport,  and  took 
a  "  fly "  to  Farringford,  distant  twelve  miles ;    a  glorious 
173 


The   Friendly  Craft 

drive  across  the  Isle  of  Wight,  between  ivied  hedges  and 
past  gardens  of  laurel  and  lauristinus  in  blossom.  Green 
meadows,  cowslips,  daisies,  and  hyacinths,  —  think  of  that 
for  February  2ist!  I  found  Farringford  wonderfully  im 
proved  :  the  little  park  is  a  gem  of  gardening  art.  The 
magnificent  Roman  ilexes  in  front  of  the  house  are  finer 
than  any  I  saw  in  Italy.  We  arrived  about  three  o^lock, 
and  were  ushered  into  the  drawing-room.  The  house  has 
been  refurnished,  and  a  great  many  pictures  and  statues 
added  since  I  was  there.  In  a  minute  in  came  Tennyson, 
cordial  as  an  old  friend,  followed  by  his  wife.  In  Tenny 
son  himself  I  could  see  no  particular  change.  He  did  not 
seem  older  than  when  I  saw  him  last.  We  walked  through 
the  park  and  garden;  then  M.  returned  to  the  house, 
while  'he  and  I  went  up  on  the  downs,  and  walked  for 
miles  along  the  chalk  cliffs  above  the  sea.  He  was 
delightfully  free  and  confidential,  and  I  wish  I  could  write 
to  you  much  of  what  he  said  ;  but  it  was  so  inwrought  with 
high  philosophy  and  broad  views  of  life  that  a  fragment 
here  and  there  would  not  fairly  represent  him.  He  showed 
me  all  his  newly  acquired  territory ;  among  the  rest,  a 
great  stretch  of  wheat-fields  bought  for  him  by  "  Enoch 
Arden."  We  dined  at  six  in  a  quaint  room  hung  with 
pictures,  and  then  went  to  the  drawing-room  for  dessert. 
Tennyson  and  I  retired  to  his  study  at  the  top  of  the 
house,  lit  pipes,  and  talked  of  poetry.  He  asked  me  if  I 
could  read  his  "  Boadicea.11  I  thought  I  could.  "Read 
it,  and  let  me  see  !  "  said  he.  "  I  would  rather  hear  you 
read  it!"  I  answered.  Thereupon  he  did  so,  chanting 
the  lumbering  lines  with  great  unction.  I  spoke  of  the 
idyl  of  Guinivere  as  being  perhaps  his  finest  poem,  and 
said  that  I  could  not  read  it  aloud  without  my  voice  break 
ing  down  at  certain  passages.  "Why,  I  can  read  it,  and 
keep  my  voice!11  he  exclaimed  triumphantly.  This  I 


Sherry  and  the  "Idylls" 

doubted,  and  he  agreed  to  try,  after  we  went  down  to  our 
wives.  But  the  first  thing  he  did  was  to  produce  a  mag 
num  of  wonderful  sherry,  thirty  years  old,  which  had  been 
sent  him  by  a  poetic  wine-dealer.  Such  wine  I  never 
tasted.  "  It  was  meant  to  be  drunk  by  Cleopatra,  or 
Catharine  of  Russia,11  said  Tennyson.  We  had  two 
glasses  apiece,  when  he  said,  "  To-night  you  shall  help  me 
drink  one  of  the  few  bottles  of  my  Waterloo, —  1815. " 
The  bottle  was  brought,  and  after  another  glass  all  around 
Tennyson  took  up  the  "Idylls  of  the  King/1  His  reading 
is  a  strange,  monotonous  chant,  with  unexpected  falling 
inflections,  which  I  cannot  describe,  but  can  imitate 
exactly.  It  is  very  impressive.  In  spite  of  myself  I  became 
very  much  excited  as  he  went  on.  Finally,  when  Arthur 
forgives  the  Queen,  Tennyson's  voice  fairly  broke.  I  found 
tears  on  my  cheeks,  and  M.  and  Mrs.  Tennyson  were 
crying,  one  on  either  side  of  me.  He  made  an  effort,  and 
went  on  to  the  end,  closing  grandly.  "  How  can  you  say,11 
I  asked  (referring  to  previous  conversation)  "  that  you  have 
no  surety  of  permanent  fame  ?  This  poem  will  only  die 
with  the  language  in  which  it  is  written.11  Mrs.  Tennyson 
started  up  from  her  couch.  "  It  is  true  ! :1  she  exclaimed. 
"  I  have  told  Alfred  the  same  thing.11 

After  that  we  went  up  to  the  garret  to  smoke  and  talk. 
Tennyson  read  the  "  Hylas 11  of  Theocritus  in  Greek,  his 
own  "  Northern  Farmer,11  and  Andrew  MarvelPs  "  Coy 
Mistress.11  .  .  .  We  parted  at  two  o'clock,  and  met  again 
at  nine  in  the  breakfast  room.  I  had  arranged  to  leave  at 
noon,  so  there  were  only  three  hours  left,  but  I  had  them 
with  him  on  the  lawn,  and  in  the  nook  under  the  roof. 
.  .  .  Tennyson  said  at  parting,  "The  gates  are  always 
open  to  you.11  His  manner  was  altogether  more  cordial 
and  intimate  than  at  my  first  visit.  He  took  up  the 
acquaintance  where  it  first  broke  off,  and  had  forgotten 
175 


The  Friendly  Craft 

no  word  (neither  had  I)  of  our  conversation  ten  years 
ago.  When  I  spoke  of  certain  things  in  his  poetry,  which 
I  specially  valued,  he  said  more  than  once,  "  But  the 
critics  blame  me  for  just  that.  It  is  only  now  and  then 
a  man  like  yourself  who  sees  what  I  meant  to  do."  He  is 
very  sensitive  to  criticism,  I  find,  but  perhaps  not  more 
than  the  rest  of  us ;  only  one  sees  it  more  clearly  in 
another.  Our  talk  was  to  me  delightful ;  it  was  as  free 
and  frank  as  if  you  had  been  in  his  place.  ...  I  felt, 
when  I  left  Farringford,  that  I  had  a  friend's  right  to  return 
again. 

Soon  after  reaching  London,  I  called  on  dear  old  Barry 
Cornwall,  who  has  taken  a  great  liking  to  Lorry  Graham. 
Mrs.  Procter  invited  both  of  us  and  our  wives  to  a  literary 
soir&e  at  their  house.  In  the  mean  time  Lorry  took  me 
with  him  to  call  on  Matthew  Arnold.  He  is  a  man  to 
like,  if  not  love,  at  first  sight.  His  resemblance  to  George 
Curtis  struck  both  of  us.  A  little  more  stoutly  built,  more 
irregularly  masculine  features,  but  the  same  general  char 
acter  of  man,  with  the  same  full,  mellow  voice.  After 
Thackeray,  I  think  I  should  soon  come  to  like  him  better 
than  any  other  Englishman.  His  eyes  sparkled  when  I 
told  him  that  I  always  kept  his  poems  on  my  library  table. 
He  said  they  were  not  popular,  and  he  was  always  a  little 
surprised  when  any  one  expressed  a  particular  liking  for 
them.  I  did  not  make  a  long  visit,  knowing  that  he  was 
run  down  with  government  work.  .  .  . 

M.  joins  me  in  dearest  love  to  you  and  L.  Would  you 
could  be  here  a  while  to  rest  your  busy  brain !  It  is  late 
at  night,  and  I  must  close.  Pray  write  to  me  some  quiet 
Sunday  morning,  when  you  have  leisure,  and  write  me  all 
the  news.  Recollect,  I  am  absent  and  you  are  at  home, 
so  your  letters  are  worth  the  most.  Vale !  .  .  . 


176 


A 


An   Uncertain   Reception 

Margaret  Fuller  suffers  mauvaise  honte  before  visiting 
George  Sand      ^>      ^>      ^>     *^x      <^x      ^> 

NAPLES,  March  17,  1847 

T  last,  however,  she  [George  Sand]  came ;  and 
I  went  to  see  her  at  her  house,  Place  d'Orleans. 
I  found  it  a  handsome  modern  residence.  She  had  not 
answered  my  letter,  written  about  a  week  before,  and  I 
felt  a  little  anxious  lest  she  should  not  receive  me;  for 
she  is  too  much  the  mark  of  impertinent  curiosity,  as  well 
as  too  busy,  to  be  easily  accessible  to  strangers.  I  am  by 
no  means  timid,  but  I  have  suffered,  for  the  first  time  in 
France,  some  of  the  torments  of  mauvaise  honte,  enough 
to  see  what  they  must  be  to  many. 

It  is  the  custom  to  go  and  call  on  those  to  whom  you 
bring  letters,  and  push  yourself  upon  their  notice ;  thus 
you  must  go  quite  ignorant  whether  they  are  disposed  to 
be  cordial.  My  name  is  always  murdered  by  the  foreign 
servants  who  announce  me.  I  speak  very  bad  French ; 
only  lately  have  I  had  sufficient  command  of  it  to  infuse 
some  of  my  natural  spirit  in  my  discourse.  This  has  been 
a  great  trial  to  me,  who  am  eloquent  and  free  in  my  own 
tongue,  to  be  forced  to  feel  my  thoughts  struggling  in  vain 
for  utterance. 

The  servant  who  admitted  me  was  in  the  picturesque 
costume  of  a  peasant,  and,  as  Madame  Sand  afterward 
told  me,  her  god-daughter,  whom  she  had  brought  from 
her  province.  She  announced  me  as  "  Madame  Salere^ 
and  returned  into  the  ante-room  to  tell  me,  "  Madame  says 
she  does  not  know  you"  I  began  to  think  I  was  doomed 
to  a  rebuff,  among  the  crowd  who  deserve  it.  However, 
to  make  assurance  sure,  I  said,  "Ask  if  she  has  not 
received  a  letter  from  me."  As  I  spoke,  Madame  S. 
opened  the  door,  and  stood  looking  at  me  an  instant. 

N  I77 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Our  eyes  met.  I  never  shall  forget  her  look  at  that 
moment.  The  doorway  made  a  frame  for  her  figure  ;  she 
is  large,  but  well-formed.  She  was  dressed  in  a  robe  of 
dark  violet  silk,  with  a  black  mantle  on  her  shoulders,  her 
beautiful  hair  dressed  with  the  greatest  taste,  her  whole 
appearance  and  attitude,  in  its  simple  and  ladylike  dignity, 
presenting  an  almost  ludicrous  contrast  to  the  vulgar  cari 
cature  idea  of  George  Sand.  Her  face  is  a  very  little  like 
the  portraits,  but  much  finer  ;  the  upper  part  of  the  fore 
head  and  eyes  are  beautiful,  the  lower,  strong  and  mas 
culine,  expressive  of  a  hardy  temperament  and  strong 
passions,  but  not  in  the  least  coarse  ;  the  complexion 
olive,  and  the  air  of  the  whole  head  Spanish,  (as,  indeed, 
she  was  born  at  Madrid,  and  is  only  on  one  side  of  French 
blood.)  All  these  details  I  saw  at  a  glance  ;  but  what 
fixed  my  attention  was  the  expression  of  goodness,  noble 
ness,  and  power,  that  pervaded  the  whole,  —  the  truly 
human  heart  and  nature  that  shone  in  the  eyes.  As  our 
eyes  met,  she  said,  "  C^est  vous"  and  held  out  her  hand. 
I  took  it,  and  went  into  her  little  study ;  we  sat  down  a 
moment,  then  I  said,  "  //  me  fait  de  bien  de  vous  voir," 
and  I  am  sure  I  said  it  with  my  whole  heart,  for  it  made 
me  very  happy  to  see  such  a  woman,  so  large  and  so 
developed  a  character,  and  everything  that  is  good  in  it 
so  really  good.  I  loved,  shall  always  love  her. 

She  looked  away,  and  said,  "•  Ah  !  vous  m'avez  ecrit  une 
lettre  ckarmante"  This  was  all  the  preliminary  of  our 
talk,  which  then  went  on  as  if  we  had  always  known  one 
another.  .  .  . 

Her  way  of  talking  is  just  like  her  writing, — lively, 
picturesque,  with  an  undertone  of  deep  feeling,  and  the 
same  skill  in  striking  the  nail  on  the  head  every  now  and 
then  with  a  blow. 

We  did  not  talk  at  all  of  personal  or  private  matters.  I 
178 


Cigarette  Smoking 

saw,  as  one  sees  in  her  writings,  the  want  of  an  inde 
pendent,  interior  life,  but  I  did  not  feel  it  as  a  fault,  there 
is  so  much  in  her  of  her  kind.  I  heartily  enjoyed  the 
sense  of  so  rich,  so  prolific,  so  ardent  a  genius.  I  liked 
the  woman  in  her,  too,  very  much  ;  I  never  liked  a  woman 
better.  .  .  . 

I  forgot  to  mention,  that,  while  talking,  she  does  smoke 
all  the  time  her  little  cigarette.  This  is  now  a  common 
practice  among  ladies  abroad,  but  I  believe  originated  with 
her.  .  .  . 

George  Bancroft  holds  familiar  intercourse  with  Gen 
eral  Moltke  <^       *^y       ^y       *Qy       ^>       *^y 

I 
(To  C.  E.  Detmold) 

BERLIN,  29  December,  1868 

HAVE  just  come  in  from  my  ride  ;  the  sun  bright, 
the  earth  free  from  frost,  the  temperature  at  45  or 
more  of  Fahrenheit,  and  so  it  has  been  for  the  last  fort 
night.  This  too  in  the  latitude  of  the  Southern  part  of 
Labrador,  with  the  night  16  h.  25'  long  and  the  sun  during 
the  short  day  stealing  along  the  southern  edge  of  the 
horizon.  My  companion  is  often  General  Moltke,  who  is 
very  nearly  the  same  age  as  myself.  Three  weeks  ago  I 
was  riding  with  him,  we  passed  a  Count  who  looked  older 
than  either  of  us.  "  He  looks,"  said  Moltke,  "  much  older 
than  he  is ;  he  has  used  his  body  more  than  his  mind/1 
We  fell  upon  the  question  whether  men  as  they  come  near 
their  end  would  like  to  begin  the  battle  of  life  anew. 
"  Who,11  said  the  General,  "  would  live  his  life  over  again? 
I  would  not  mine.  The  old  story  of  the  Hindoo  philoso 
pher  is  true,  when  he  said  this  life  is  a  punishment  for 
179 


I 


^ro] 
1    i< 


The  Friendly  Craft 

transgressions  committed  under  an  earlier  form  of  being." 
All  this  he  spoke  deliberately  and  emphatically,  and  this 
man  is  one  of  the  two  most  honoured  men  in  Germany. 
As  we  passed  along,  every  one  took  off  his  hat  and  bowed 
to  him  ;  as  we  passed  a  restaurant  a  crowd  filled  the  win 
dow  to  greet  him  as  he  rode  by.  It  seemed  as  if  every  eye 
that  saw  him  gave  him  a  blessing,  and  every  voice  was 
raised  to  bear  witness  to  him  ;  and  yet  life  had  for  him  no 
attractions ;  and  the  thought  of  renewing  it  on  earth  was 
one  from  which  he  shrunk  with  horror.  .  .  . 

II 
(To  Mrs.  J.  C.  Bancroft  Davis) 

January  2,  1869 

)DAY  in  my  ride  I  came  in  sight  of  General 
Moltke  with  whom  I  have  formed  habits  of 
friendship.  The  day  before  Christmas  his  wife  "After 
twenty-seven  years  of  happiest  married  life,"  as  he  himself 
said,  died  after  a  short  and  terribly  painful  illness.  To 
have  forced  myself  on  him  might  have  been  an  intrusion, 
to  turn  away  from  him  my  heart  forbade.  So  I  rode  up  to 
him,  turned  my  horse  and  accompanied.  He  is  called  the 
silent;  with  me  he  talks  much  and  with  openness.  A 
moment  or  two  we  walked  our  horses  in  silence  :  I  only 
have  expressed  my  grief  in  the  fewest  but  very  sincere 
words.  Presently  he  observed  :  "  The  attack  was  severe  ; 
the  best  physicians,  the  most  careful  treatment  were  of  no 
avail ;  it  was  not  possible  to  save  her  life."  We  went  on 
and  again  he  spoke :  "  I  have  taken  her  to  Creisau  (his 
place  in  Silesia)  and  have  placed  her  in  the  church  (which 
was  on  his  estate)  buried  under  the  palms  and  wreaths  of 
flowers  that  were  heaped  upon  her.  I  have  selected  a  spot 
on  high  ground,  commanding  a  beautiful  view ;  and  then 
in  the  spring  I  shall  build  a  vault  to  receive  her"  (and  the 
1 80 


A  Happy  Married   Life 

thought  not  uttered  was,  to  receive  himself  too  when  he 
should  come  to  die)  ;  "  She  was  so  much  younger  than  I," 
said  he,  "  she  should  have  outlived  me ;  but  when  that 
was  spoken  of,  she  used  to  say,  that  she  had  no  desire  to 
survive  me  long."  I  said  repeating  his  words  :  "  Twenty- 
seven  years  of  happiest  married  life  are  a  great  blessing.11 
"Thank  God  for  all  that,"  he  answered  and  then  spoke  of 
her  illness.  She  had  charged  him  if  danger  of  life  came, 
he  should  tell  her  of  it,  that  they  might  once  more  par 
take  of  the  Abendmahl  (the  Lord's  supper)  together. 
"After  all,"  said  he,  "perhaps  she  died  opportunely  to 
escape  terrible  trials.  Happy  in  the  moment  of  her  death, 
in  so  far  as  she  left  her  country  in  repose  and  happiness. 
Who  knows  what  disaster  may  arise?  Who  knows  what 
mad  scheme  Beust  may  conjure  up?  Thank  God  you 
Americans  at  least  are  truly  our  friends."  Moltke  holds 
the  post  which  throws  upon  him  all  the  anxiety  and  re 
sponsibility  of  keeping  the  Prussian  Army  ready  to  take  the 
field  at  an  instant,  if  Napoleon  should  suddenly  engage 
in  carrying  out  his  ambitious  plans  of  aggrandisement  for 
France. 

Moltke  held  out  his  hand,  and  pressed  mine  cordially, 
as  he  left  the  park  for  home.  I  prolonged  my  ride  and 
presently  Count  Bismarck  trotted  past  me ;  just  as  he  had 
gone  by  me  he  recognized  me  and  turned  to  speak  with 
me.  He  was  looking  for  his  daughter  and  presently  she 
came  in  sight,  well  mounted,  attended  by  another  young 
lady  and  by  her  brother  and  a  large  group  of  gay  com 
panions.  We  turned  to  go  home,  as  it  was  now  late ; 
just  then  the  King  in  a  light  open  carriage  drove  past,  and 
as  he  greeted  us  most  smilingly,  looked  amazed  to  see 
a  crowd  of  riders  together.  Bismarck  began  and  talked 
on  the  branches  of  the  great  German  family,  and  proved 
us  all  to  be  Saxons.  .  .  . 

181 


The  Friendly  Craft 

John  Lothrop  Motley  visits  Prince  Bismarck    *^y    ^v> 

(To  his  wife) 

VARZIN, 

July  25111,  1872 

MY  DEAREST  MARY,  —  .  .  . 
We  had  an  hour  and  a  half's  drive  from  the  sta 
tion  to  Varzin.     As  the  postilion  sounded  his  trumpet  and 

we  drove  up  to  the  door,  Bismarck,  his  wife,  M ,  and 

H ,  all  came  out  to  the  carriage  and  welcomed  us  in 

the  most  affectionate  manner.  I  found  him  very  little 
changed  in  appearance  since  '64,  which  surprises  me.  He 
is  somewhat  stouter,  and  his  face  more  weather-beaten,  but 
as  expressive  and  powerful  as  ever.  Madame  de  Bismarck 
is  but  little  altered  in  the  fourteen  years  that  have  passed 
since  I  saw  her.  They  are  both  most  kind  and  agreeable 
to  Lily,  and  she  feels  already  as  if  she  had  known  them  all 

her  life.     M is  a  pretty  girl,  with  beautiful  dark  hair 

and  grey  eyes  —  simple,  unaffected,  and,  like  both  father 
and  mother,  full  of  fun.  The  manner  of  living  is  most 
unsophisticated,  as  you  will  think  when  I  tell  you  that  we 
were  marched  straight  from  the  carriage  into  the  dining- 
room  (after  a  dusty,  hot  journey  by  rail  and  carriage  of  ten 
hours),  and  made  to  sit  down  and  go  on  with  the  dinner, 
which  was  about  half  through,  as.  owing  to  a  contretemps, 
we  did  not  arrive  until  an  hour  after  we  were  expected. 
After  dinner  Bismarck  and  I  had  a  long  walk  in  the  woods, 
he  talking  all  the  time  in  the  simplest  and  funniest  and 
most  interesting  manner  about  all  sorts  of  things  that  had 
happened  in  these  tremendous  years,  but  talking  of  them 
exactly  as  every-day  people  talk  of  every-day  matters  — 
without  any  affectation.  The  truth  is,  he  is  so  entirely 
simple,  so  full  of  laissez-aller,  that  one  is  obliged  to  be 
saying  to  one's  self  all  the  time,  This  is  the  great  Bis- 
182 


Nobody  Controls 

marck  —  the  greatest  living  man,  and  one  of  the  greatest 
historical  characters  that  ever  lived.  When  one  lives 
familiarly  with  Brobdignags  it  seems  for  the  moment  that 
every  one  is  a  Brobdignag  too ;  that  it  is  the  regular  thing 
to  be ;  one  forgets  for  the  moment  one's  own  compara 
tively  diminutive  stature.  There  are  a  great  many  men.  in 
certain  villages  that  we  have  known  who  cast  a  far  more 
chilling  shade  over  those  about  them  than  Bismarck  does. 

...  He  said  he  used  when  younger  to  think  himself  a 
clever  fellow  enough,  but  now  he  was  convinced  that  no 
body  had  any  control  over  events  —  that  nobody  was  really 
powerful  or  great,  and  it  made  him  laugh  when  he  heard 
himself  complimented  as  wise,  foreseeing,  and  exercising 
great  influence  over  the  world.  A  man  in  the  situation  in 
which  he  had  been  placed  was  obliged,  while  outsiders  for 
example  were  speculating  whether  to-morrow  it  would  be 
rain  or  sunshine,  to  decide  promptly,  it  will  rain,  or  it  will 
be  fine,  and  to  act  accordingly  with  all  the  forces  at  his 
command.  If  he  guessed  right,  all  the  world  said,  What 
sagacity  —  what  prophetic  power  !  if  wrong,  all  the  old 
women  would  have  beaten  me  with  broomsticks. 

If  he  had  learned  nothing  else,  he  said  he  had  learned 
modesty.  Certainly  a  more  unaffected  mortal  never 
breathed,  nor  a  more  genial  one.  He  looks  like  a  Colos 
sus,  but  his  health  is  somewhat  shattered.  He  can  never 
sleep  until  four  or  five  in  the  morning.  Of  course  work 
follows  him  here,  but  so  far  as  I  have  yet  seen  it  seems  to 
trouble  him  but  little.  He  looks  like  a  country  gentleman 
entirely  at  leisure. 

...  I  wish  I  could  record  the  description  he  gave  of  his 
interviews  with  Jules  Favre  and  afterwards  with  Thiers  and 
Favre,  when  the  peace  was  made. 

One  trait  I  mustn't  forget,  however.  Favre  cried  a 
little,  or  affected  to  cry,  and  was  very  pathetic  and  heroic. 
183 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Bismarck  said  that  he  must  not  harangue  him  as  if  he 
were  an  Assembly;  they  were  two  together  on  business 
purposes,  and  he  was  perfectly  hardened  against  eloquence 
of  any  kind.  Favre  begged  him  not  to  mention  that  he 
had  been  so  weak  as  to  weep,  and  Bismarck  was  much 
diverted  at  finding  in  the  printed  account  afterwards  pub 
lished  by  Favre  that  he  made  a  great  parade  of  the  tears 
he  had  shed. 

I  must  break  off  in  order  to  commit  this  letter  to  the 
bag.  Of  course  I  don't  yet  know  how  long  we  shall  stay 
here ;  I  suppose  a  day  or  two  longer.  I  will  send  a  tele 
gram  about  a  change  of  address,  so  don't  be  frightened  at 
getting  one. 

Ever  yours, 

J.  L.  M. 

From  the  "Correspondence  of  John  Lothrop  Motley,"  edited  by   George 
William  Curtis.     Copyright,  1889,  by  J.  Lewis  Stackpole. 

VIII 
THE   JUDGMENT   OF   PEERS 

Henry  W.  Longfellow,  with  the  enthusiasm  of  seven 
teen,  discloses  his  literary  ambition  to  his  father 

December  5,  1824 
TAKE    this  early  opportunity  to  write    to  you, 


I 


because  I  wish  to  know  fully  your  inclination 
with  regard  to  the  profession  I  am  to  pursue  when  I  leave 
college. 

For  my  part,  I  have  already  hinted  to  you  what  would 
best  please  me.  I  want  to  spend  one  year  at  Cambridge 
for  the  purpose  of  reading  history,  and  of  becoming  familiar 
with  the  best  authors  in  polite  literature  ;  whilst  at  the 
same  time  I  can  be  acquiring  a  knowledge  of  the  Italian 
184 


The  Choice  of  Literature 

language,  without  an  acquaintance  with  which  I  shall  be 
shut  out  from  one  of  the  most  beautiful  departments  of 
letters.  The  French  I  mean  to  understand  pretty  thor 
oughly  before  I  leave  college.  After  leaving  Cambridge,  I 
would  attach  myself  to  some  literary  periodical  publication, 
by  which  I  could  maintain  myself  and  still  enjoy  the  ad 
vantages  of  reading.  Now,  I  do  not  think  that  there  is 
anything  visionary  or  chimerical  in  my  plan  thus  far.  The 
fact  is  —  and  I  will  not  disguise  it  in  the  least,  for  I  think 
I  ought  not  —  the  fact  is,  I  most  eagerly  aspire  after  future 
eminence  in  literature  ;  my  whole  soul  burns  most  ardently 
for  it,  and  every  earthly  thought  centres  in  it.  There  may 
be  something  visionary  in  this,  but  I  flatter  myself  that  I 
have  prudence  enough  to  keep  my  enthusiasm  from  defeat 
ing  its  own  object  by  too  great  haste.  Surely,  there  never 
was  a  better  opportunity  offered  for  the  exertion  of  literary 
talent  in  our  own  country  than  is  now  offered.  To  be 
sure,  most  of  our  literary  men  thus  far  have  not  been  pro 
fessedly  so,  until  they  have  studied  and  entered  the  prac 
tice  of  Theology,  Law,  or  Medicine.  But  this  is  evidently 
lost  time.  I  do  believe  that  we  ought  to  pay  more  atten 
tion  to  the  opinion  of  philosophers,  that  "  nothing  but 
Nature  can  qualify  a  man  for  knowledge." 

Whether  Nature  has  given  me  any  capacity  for  knowl 
edge  or  not,  she  has  at  any  rate  given  me  a  very  strong 
predilection  for  literary  pursuits,  and  I  am  almost  confident 
in  believing,  that,  if  I  can  ever  rise  in  the  world,  it  must  be 
by  the  exercise  of  my  talent  in  the  wide  field  of  literature. 
With  such  a  belief,  I  must  say  that  I  am  unwilling  to 
engage  in  the  study  of  the  law. 

Here,  then  seems  to  be  the  starting  point :  and  I  think 

it  best  for  me  to  float  out  into  the  world  upon  that  tide 

and  in  that  channel  which  will  the  soonest  bring  me  to 

my  destined  port,  and  not  to  struggle  against  both  wind 

185 


The  Friendly  Craft 

and  tide,  and  by  attempting  what  is  impossible  lose  every 
thing.   .   .   . 

Mr.    Longfellow,   Sr.,   replies   cautiously,  incidentally 
pointing  out  a  false  rhythm     x^>-    ^v    -Qy    ^* 

THE  subject  of  your  first  letter  is  one  of  deep 
interest  and  demands  great  consideration.  A 
literary  life,  to  one  who  has  the  means  of  support,  must  be 
very  pleasant.  But  there  is  not  wealth  enough  in  this 
country  to  afford  encouragement  and  patronage  to  merely 
literary  men.  And  as  you  have  not  had  the  fortune  (I  will 
not  say  whether  good  or  ill)  to  be  born  rich,  you  must 
adopt  a  profession  which  will  afford  you  subsistence  as 
well  as  reputation.  I  am  happy  to  observe  that  my  ambi 
tion  has  never  been  to  accumulate  wealth  for  my  children, 
but  to  cultivate  their  minds  in  the  best  possible  manner, 
and  to  imbue  them  with  correct  moral,  political,  and  reli 
gious  principles, —  believing  that  a  person  thus  educated 
will  with  proper  diligence  be  certain  of  attaining  all  the 
wealth  which  is  necessary  to  happiness.  With  regard  to 
your  spending  a  year  at  Cambridge,  I  have  always  thought 
it  might  be  beneficial ;  and  if  my  health  should  not  be 
impaired  and  my  finances  should  allow,  I  should  be  very 
happy  to  gratify  you.  .  .  .  In  the  Advertiser  of  the  i8th, 
I  observe  some  poetry  from  the  U.  S.  Literary  Gazette, 
which,  from  its  signature,  I  presume  to  be  from  your  pen. 
It  is  a  very  pretty  production,  and  I  read  it  with  pleasure. 
But  you  will  observe  that  the  second  line  of  the  sixth  verse 
has  too  many  feet.  "  Beneath  the  dark  and  motionless 
beech."  I  think  it  would  be  improved  by  substituting 
lonely  for  motionless.  I  suggest  this  for  your  considera 
tion.  I  have  the  pleasure  of  hearing  frequently  from  home. 
They  complain  that  they  have  not  heard  a  word  from  you 
since  you  left.  This  is  unpardonable.  .  .  . 
1 86 


Pernicious   Effects 

Washington  Irving  also  discourages  literary  ambition 
(To  Pierre  P.  Irving) 

PARIS,  Dec.  7,  1824 

MY  DEAR  PIERRE, 
I  have  long  intended  to  answer  your  letter,  but  I 
am  so  much  occupied  at  one  time  and  interrupted  at 
another,  that  I  am  compelled  to  be  a  very  irregular  cor 
respondent.  I  have  been  much  gratified  by  the  good 
accounts  I  hear  of  you  from  various  quarters,  and  have 
been  pleased  with  the  little  periodical  work  which  you 
sent  me,  which  gave  proof  of  very  promising  talent.  I 
am  sorry,  however,  to  find  you  venturing  into  print  at  so 
early  an  age,  as  I  consider  it  extremely  disadvantageous. 
I  would  have  you  study  assiduously  for  several  years  to 
come,  without  suffering  yourself,  either  by  your  own  in 
clinations  or  the  suggestions  of  your  friends,  to  be  per 
suaded  to  commit  the  merest  trifle  to  the  press.  Let  me 
impress  this  most  earnestly  upon  you.  I  speak  from 
observation  and  experience  as  to  the  pernicious  effects 
of  early  publishing.  It  begets  an  eagerness  to  reap  before 
one  has  sown.  It  produces  too  often  an  indisposition  to 
further  study,  and  a  restless  craving  after  popular  applause. 
There  is  nothing  that  a  very  young  man  can  write  that 
will  not  be  full  of  faults  and  errors,  and  when  once  printed 
they  remain  to  cause  him  chagrin  and  self-reproach  in  his 
after  years.  The  article  you  wrote  in  the  periodical  work, 
for  instance,  was  very  clever  as  to  composition,  and  was  all 
that  could  be  expected  from  a  writer  of  your  age  ;  but  then 
you  showed  yourself  ignorant  of  music,  though  you  under 
took  to  satirize  a  musical  performance ;  at  a  riper  age  you 
would  not  have  committed  this  error.  .  .  . 

I  hope,  however,  your  literary  vein  has  been  but  a  tran 
sient  one,  and  that  you  are  preparing   to  establish   your 
187 


The  Friendly  Craft 

fortune  and  reputation  on  a  better  basis  than  literary 
success.  I  hope  none  of  those  whose  interests  and  hap 
piness  are  dear  to  me  will  be  induced  to  follow  my  foot 
steps,  and  wander  into  the  seductive  but  treacherous  paths 
of  literature.  There  is  no  life  more  precarious  in  its 
profits  and  fallacious  in  its  enjoyments  than  that  of  an 
author.  I  speak  from  an  experience  which  may  be  con 
sidered  a  favorable  and  prosperous  one;  and  I  would 
earnestly  dissuade  all  those  with  whom  my  voice  has  any 
effect  from  trusting  their  fortunes  to  the  pen.  For  my 
part,  I  look  forward  with  impatience  to  the  time  when  a 
moderate  competency  will  place  me  above  the  necessity  of 
writing  for  the  press.  I  have  long  since  discovered  that 
it  is  indeed  "  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit."  .  .  . 

Give  my  best  love  to  the  family,  and  believe  me  ever, 
Your  affectionate  uncle, 

WASHINGTON  IRVING 

Mr.  Lowell  advises  Mr.  Howells  ^cv     ^v^      *^x     x^y 

CAMBRIDGE,  Monday,  Aug.,  1860 

MY  DEAR  YOUNG  FRIEND,  — Here  is  a  note  to 
Mr.   Hawthorne,  which  you  can  use   if  you  have 
occasion. 

Don't  print  too  much  and  too  soon  ;  don't  get  married 
in  a  hurry ;  read  what  will  make  you  think,  not  dream ; 
hold  yourself  dear,  and  more  power  to  your  elbow  !  God 
bless  you ! 

Cordially  yours, 

J.  R.  LOWELL 

From  "  Letters  of  James  Russell  Lowell,"  edited  by  Charles  Eliot  Norton. 
Copyright,  1893,  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 


1 88 


Lovers  of  Teufelsdrockh 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  expresses  to  Thomas  Carlyle 
his  approbation  of  "  Sartor  Resartus  "      ^^      *o> 

CONCORD,  12  March,  1835 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  — I  am  glad  of  the  opportunity  of 
Mr.  Barnard's  visit  to  say  health  and  peace  be  with 
you.  I  esteem  it  the  best  sign  that  has  shone  in  my  little 
section  of  space  for  many  days,  that  some  thirty  or  more 
intelligent  persons  understand  and  highly  appreciate  the 
Sartor.  Dr.  Channing  sent  to  me  for  it  the  other  day,  and 
I  have  since  heard  that  he  had  read  it  with  great  interest. 
As  soon  as  I  go  into  town  I  shall  see  him  and  measure  his 
love.  I  know  his  genius  does  not  and  cannot  engage  your 
attention  much.  He  possesses  the  mysterious  endowment 
of  natural  eloquence,  whose  effect,  however  intense,  is 
limited,  of  course,  to  personal  communication.  I  can  see 
myself  that  his  writings,  without  his  voice,  may  be  meagre 
and  feeble.  But  please  love  his  Catholicism,  that  at  his 
age  can  relish  the  Sartor,  born  and  inveterated  as  he  is  in 
old  books.  Moreover,  he  lay  awake  all  night,  he  told  my 
friend  last  week,  because  he  had  learned  in  the  evening 
that  some  young  men  proposed  to  issue  a  journal,  to  be 
called  The  Transcendentalist,  as  the  organ  of  a  spiritual 
philosophy.  So  much  for  our  gossip  of  to-day. 

But  my  errand  is  yet  to  tell.  Some  friends  here  are  very 
desirous  that  Mr.  Fraser  should  send  out  to  a  bookseller 
here  fifty  or  a  hundred  copies  of  the  Sartor.  So  many  we 
want  very  much  ;  they  would  be  sold  at  once.  If  we  knew 
that  two  or  three  hundred  would  be  taken  up,  we  should 
reprint  it  now.  But  we  think  it  better  to  satisfy  the  known 
inquirers  for  the  book  first,  and  when  they  have  extended 
the  demand  for  it,  then  to  reproduce  it,  a  naturalized 
Yankee.  The  lovers  of  Teufelsdrockh  here  are  sufficiently 
enthusiastic.  I  am  an  icicle  to  them.  They  think  England 
189 


The  Friendly  Craft 

must  be  blind  and  deaf  if  the  Professor  makes  no  more 
impression  there  than  yet  appears.  I,  with  the  most 
affectionate  wishes  for  Thomas  Carlyle's  fame,  am  mainly 
bent  on  securing  the  medicinal  virtues  of  his  book  for  my 
young  neighbors.  The  good  people  think  he  overpraises 
Goethe.  There  I  give  him  up  to  their  wrath.  But  I  bid 
them  mark  his  unsleeping  moral  sentiment ;  that  every 
other  moralist  occasionally  nods,  becomes  complaisant  and 
traditional ;  but  this  man  is  without  interval  on  the  side 
of  equity  and  humanity!  I  am  grieved  for  you,  O  wise 
friend,  that  you  cannot  put  in  your  own  contemptuous  dis 
claimer  of  such  puritannical  pleas  as  are  set  up  for  you ; 
but  each  creature  and  Levite  must  do  after  his  kind. 

Yet  do  not  imagine  that  I  will  hurt  you  in  this  unseen 
domain  of  yours  by  any  Boswellism.  Every  suffrage  you 
get  here  is  fairly  your  own.  Nobody  is  coaxed  to  admire 
you,  and  you  have  won  friends  whom  I  should  be  proud  to 
show  you,  and  honorable  women  not  a  few.  And  cannot 
you  renew  and  confirm  your  suggestion  touching  your  ap 
pearance  in  this  continent?  Ah,  if  I  could  give  your  inti 
mation  the  binding  force  of  an  oracular  word !  —  in  a  few 
months,  please  God,  at  most,  I  shall  have  wife,  house,  and 
home  wherewith  and  wherein  to  return  your  former  hospi 
tality.  And  if  I  could  draw  my  prophet  and  his  prophetess 
to  brighten  and  immortalize  my  lodge,  and  make  it  the 
window  through  which  for  a  summer  you  should  look  out 
on  a  field  which  Columbus  and  Berkeley  and  Lafayette  did 
not  scorn  to  sow,  my  sun  should  shine  clearer  and  life 
would  promise  something  better  than  peace.  There  is  a 
part  of  ethics,  or  in  Schleiermacher's  distribution  it  might 
be  physics,  which  possesses  all  attraction  for  me ;  to  wit, 
the  compensations  of  the  Universe,  the  equality  and  the  co 
existence  of  action  and  reaction,  that  all  prayers  are 
granted,  that  every  debt  is  paid.  And  the  skill  with  which 
190 


Philosophy  in   Boston 

the  great  All  maketh  clean  work  as  it  goes  along,  leaves  no 
rag,  consumes  its  smoke,  —  will  I  hope  make  a  chapter  in 
your  thesis. 

I  intimated  above  that  we  aspire  to  have  a  work  on  the 
First  Philosophy  in  Boston.  I  hope,  or  wish  rather. 
Those  that  are  forward  in  it  debate  upon  the  name.  I 
doubt  not  in  the  least  its  reception  if  the  material  that 
should  fill  it  existed.  Through  the  thickest  understanding 
will  the  reason  throw  itself  instantly  into  relation  with  the 
truth  that  is  its  object,  whenever  that  appears.  But  how 
seldom  is  the  pure  loadstone  produced !  Faith  and  love  are 
apt  to  be  spasmodic  in  the  best  minds.  Men  live  on  the 
brink  of  mysteries  and  harmonies  into  which  yet  they 
never  enter,  and  with  their  hand  on  the  door-latch  they  die 
outside.  Always  excepting  my  wonderful  Professor,  who 
among  the  living  has  thrown  any  memorable  truths  into 
circulation  ?  So  live  and  rejoice  and  work,  my  friend,  and 
God  you  aid,  for  the  profit  of  many  more  than  your  mortal 
eyes  shall  see.  Especially  seek  with  recruited  and  never- 
tired  vision  to  bring  back  yet  higher  and  truer  report  from 
your  Mount  of  Communion  of  the  Spirit  that  dwells  there 
and  creates  all.  Have  you  received  a  letter  from  me  with 
a  pamphlet  sent  in  December  ?  Fail  not,  I  beg  of  you,  to 
remember  me  to  Mrs.  Carlyle. 

Can  you  not  have  some  Sartors  sent  ?  Milliard,  Gray, 
&  Co.  are  the  best  publishers  in  Boston.  Or  Mr.  Rich 
has  connections  with  Burdett  in  Boston. 

Yours  with  respect  and  affection, 

R.  WALDO  EMERSON 


191 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Mr.  Willis  insists  on  remaining  out  of  Boston,  but  will 
do  all  that  he  can  for  his  friends    *^x      ^x      ^> 

GLENMARY,  September  15,  1840 

MY  DEAR  LONGFELLOW,  — I  had  thought  it  prob 
able  that  I  should  see  you  here  this  summer.  I  was 
sorry  to  get  the  assurance  that  you  were  not  to  fly  from 
your  orbit  of  east  wind.  I  wanted  to  have  a  talk  with  you. 
That  same  east  wind,  by  the  way,  was  the  reason  I  did  not 
see  you  while  I  was  in  Boston ;  for  I  devoted  one  after 
noon  to  a  drive  to  Cambridge,  and  on  heading  round  from 
Brooklihe  the  pestilent  bise  met  us  full  on  the  quarter,  and 
Mrs.  Willis  declared  she  could  not  stand  it.  So  I  up 
helm  for  my  sister's  house  in  Brighton,  and  we  finished 
the  evening  over  a  fire.  I  confess  that  I  see  everything, 
even  my  friends,  through  my  bilious  spectacles  in  Boston. 
I  do  not  enjoy  any  thing  or  anybody  within  its  abominable 
periphery  of  hills  and  salt-marshes.  Even  you  seem  not 
what  you  would  at  Glenmary ;  and  I  prefer  Sumner  sea 
sick  in  a  head-wind  in  the  English  Channel,  to  Sumner 
with  his  rosiest  gills  and  reddest  waistcoat  in  Boston. 
By  the  way,  how  is  our  agreeable  friend ;  and  have  the 
nankeen-trousered  Bostonians  yet  begun  to  qualify  their 
admiration  of  him  ?  I  consider  his  advent  a  kind  of  experi- 
mentum  cruets ;  and  if  they  do  turn  and  abuse  him,  they 
will  certainly  go  to  perdition  for  illiberality.  There  is  no 
excuse  for  disliking  Sumner.  He  bears  his  honors  so 
meekly,  and  is  so  thoroughly  a  good  fellow,  that  if  they  do 
not  send  him  to  Congress  and  love  him  forever,  I  will 
deny  my  cradle. 

I  am  going  to  New  York  in  a  week  or  two,  and  one  of 

my  bringings  back  will  be  your  Voices  of  the  Night,  of 

which  I   have  only  read  the  extracts  in  the  newspapers. 

I  see  perfectly  the  line  you  are  striking  out  for  a  renown, 

192 


Not  Quite   Merchant  Enough 

and  it  will  succeed.  Your  severe,  chaste,  lofty-thoughted 
style  of  poetry  will  live  a  great  deal  longer  than  that  which 
would  be  more  salable  and  popular  now ;  and  if  you  pre 
ferred  the  money  and  the  hurrah,  I  should  be  as  sorry  as  I 
am  to  be  obliged  to  do  so  myself.  Still,  I  think  you  are 
not  quite  merchant  enough  with  your  poems  after  they  are 
written,  and  about  this  I  talked  a  great  deal  with  Sumner, 
who  will  disgorge  for  you. 

How,  and  what  fashion  of  Benedick,  is  Felton?  Him  I 
should  like  to  see  too, -on  an  unprejudiced  potato-hill,  —  out 
of  Boston,  that  is  to  say  ;  and  next  year,  if  I  am  here,  I 
will  try  what  persuasion  will  do  to  get  him  and  his  wife, 
you  and  Sumner  and  Cleveland,  at  Glenmary  in  literary 
congress.  I  have  built  a  new  slice  to  my  house,  and  have 
plenty  of  room  for  you  all.  Will  you,  seriously,  talk  of 
this  and  try  to  shape  it  out?  Tell  Felton  I  was  highly 
gratified  and  obliged  by  the  kind  and  flattering  review  of 
my  poems  in  the  North  American.  It  has  done  me,  I 
doubt  not,  great  service ;  $a  vent  dire  I  can  make  better 
bargains  with  editors  and  publishers,  —  about  all  I  think 
worth  minding  in  the  way  of  popular  opinion.  Will  you 
write  me  a  long  letter  and  tell  me  what  you  think  of  your 
own  literary  position,  and  whether  a  blast  from  "  Under  the 
Bridge  "  would  make  your  topsails  belly  ?  I  will  express 
all  the  admiration  I  feel  for  your  sweet  poems,  if  you 
care  a  rush  for  it,  —  indeed,  I  think  I  shall  do  it  whether 
you  like  it  or  no.  God  bless  you,  dear  Longfellow ! 
Believe  me 

Yours  very  faithfully, 

N.  P.  WILLIS 


193 


The  Friendly  Craft 

• 
Margaret   Fuller   urges   Henry   Thoreau   to  renewed 

effort  -Qy  ^>          -x^x          ^>         ^y          ^\Ny          ^^ 

i8th  October,  1841 

.  .  .  T  DO  not  find  the  poem  on  the  mountains  improved 
*-  by  mere  compression,  though  it  might  be  by 
fusion  and  glow.  Its  merits  to  me  are,  a  noble  recognition 
of  Nature,  two  or  three  manly  thoughts,  and,  in  one  place, 
a  plaintive  music.  The  image  of  the  ships  does  not  please 
me  originally.  It  illustrates  the  greater  by  the  less,  and 
affects  me  as  when  Byron  compares  the  light  on  Jura  to 
that  of  the  dark  eye  of  a  woman.  I  cannot  define  my 
position  here,  and  a  large  class  of  readers  would  differ 
from  me.  As  the  poet  goes  on  to  — 

"Unhewn  primeval  timber, 
For  knees  so  stiff,  for  masts  so  limber," 

he  seems  to  chase  an  image,  already  rather  forced,  into 
conceits. 

Yet,  now  that  I  have  some  knowledge  of  the  man,  it 
seems  there  is  no  objection  I  could  make  to  his  lines  (with 
the  exception  of  such  offenses  against  taste  as  the  lines 
about  the  humors  of  the  eye,  as  to  which  we  are  already 
agreed),  which  I  would  not  make  to  himself.  He  is 
healthful,  rare,  of  open  eye,  ready  hand,  and  noble  scope. 
He  sets  no  limits  to  his  life,  nor  to  the  invasions  of  nature ; 
he  is  not  wilfully  pragmatical,  cautious,  ascetic,  or  fantas 
tical.  But  he  is  as  yet  a  somewhat  bare  hill,  which  the 
warm  gales  of  Spring  have  not  yet  visited.  Thought  lies 
too  detached,  truth  is  seen  too  much  in  detail ;  we  can 
number  and  mark  the  substances  imbedded  in  the  rock. 
Thus  his  verses  are  startling  as  much  as  stern  ;  the  thought 
does  not  excuse  its  conscious  existence  by  letting  us  see 
its  relation  with  life  ;  there  is  a  want  of  fluent  music.  Yet 
what  could  a  companion  do  at  present,  unless  to  tame  the 
194 


Paradoxes 

guardian  of  the  Alps  too  early  ?  Leave  him  at  peace  amid 
his  native  snows.  He  is  friendly  ;  he  will  find  the  gener 
ous  office  that  shall  educate  him.  It  is  not  a  soil  for  the 
citron  and  the  rose,  but  for  the  whortleberry,  the  pine,  or 
the  heather. 

The  unfolding  of  affections,  a  wider  and  deeper  human 
experience,  the  harmonizing  influences  of  other  natures, 
will  mould  the  man  and  melt  his  verse.  He  will  seek 
thought  less  and  find  knowledge  the  more.  I  can  have  no 
advice  or  criticism  for  a  person  so  sincere ;  but,  if  I  give 
my  impression  of  him,  I  will  say,  "  He  says  too  constantly 
of  Nature,  she  is  mine."  She  is  not  yours  until  you  have 
been  more  hers.  Seek  the  lotus,  and  take  a  draught  of 
rapture.  Say  not  so  confidently,  all  places,  all  occasions 
are  alike.  This  will  never  come  true  till  you  have  found 
it  false. 

I  do  not  know  that  I  have  more  to  say  now ;  perhaps 
these  words  will  say  nothing  to  you.  If  intercourse  should 
continue,  perhaps  a  bridge  may  be  made  between  two 
minds  so  widely  apart ;  for  I  apprehended  you  in  spirit, 
and  you  did  not  seem  to  mistake  me  so  widely  as  most  of 
your  kind  do.  If  you  should  find  yourself  inclined  to 
write  to  me,  as  you  thought  you  might,  I  dare  say,  many 
thoughts  would  be  suggested  to  me ;  many  have  already, 
by  seeing  you  from  day  to  day.  Will  you  finish  the  poem 
in  your  own  way,  and  send  it  for  the  "  Dial "  ?  Leave  out  — 

"  And  seem  to  milk  the  sky." 
The  image  is  too  low ;  Mr.  Emerson  thought  so  too. 

Farewell  !  May  truth  be  irradiated  by  Beauty  !  Let  me 
know  whether  you  go  to  the  lonely  hut,  and  write  to  me 
about  Shakespeare,  if  you  read  him  there.  I  have  many 
thoughts  about  him,  which  I  have  never  yet  been  led  to 

express. 

MARGARET  F. 

195 


I 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Once  more  Miss  Fuller  rejects  Mr.  Thoreau's  manu 
script       ^>      *Cy       ^>        ^>        ^>       <^       ^> 

ist  December  [1841] 

AM  to  blame  for  so  long  detaining  your  manu 
script.  But  my  thoughts  have  been  so  engaged 
that  I  have  not  found  a  suitable  hour  to  reread  it  as  I 
wished,  till  last  night.  This  second  reading  only  confirms 
my  impression  from  the  first.  The  essay  is  rich  in 
thoughts,  and  I  should  be  pained  not  to  meet  it  again. 
But  then,  the  thoughts  seem  to  me  so  out  of  their  natural 
order,  that  I  cannot  read  it  through  without  pain.  I 
never  once  feei  myself  in  a  stream  of  thought,  but  seem  to 
hear  the  grating  of  tools  on  the  mosaic.  It  is  true,  as 
Mr.  Emerson  says,  that  essays  not  to  be  compared  with 
this  have  found  their  way  into  the  "  Dial.11  But  then 
these  are  more  unassuming  in  their  tone,  and  have  an  air 
of  quiet  good-breeding,  which  induces  us  to  permit  their 
presence.  Yours  is  so  rugged  that  it  ought  to  be  com 
manding.  .  .  . 

William    Wetmore     Story    praises     the     "  Fable    for 
Critics,"  but  defends  Margaret  Fuller  xv>      *o> 

(To  James  Russell  Lowell) 

ROME,  March  2ist.  1849 

MY    DEAR    JIM,—  .    .    .     "The    Biglow    Papers" 
I    used    to    read    to    convulsed    audiences    at  our 
weekly  "  at  home "  on  Sunday  evenings,  giving  them  as 
well  as  I  could  the  true  Yankee  note,  and  one  evening  I 
interpreted  in  the  same  tones  one  of  them  to  the  Brown 
ings,  who  were  quite  as  much  amused  and  delighted  as  I. 
The  "  Fable    for   Critics "  is  admirable  and  just   what   I 
196 


Too  Sharp  a  Joke 

think  in  almost  all  points.  It  is  very  witty  and,  as  the 
English  say,  "  amazingly  clever.'1  Once  or  twice  you  were 
biassed  by  friendships  (how  can  one  help  being  ?  it  is  so 
graceful  an  error)  and  once  by  prejudice ;  but  you  know 
this  really  as  well  as  I.  There  is  but  one  thing  I  regretted, 
and  that  was  that  you  drove  your  arrow  so  sharply  through 
Miranda.1  The  joke  of  "  Tiring-woman  to  the  Muses  "  is 
too  happy ;  but  because  fate  has  really  been  unkind  to  her, 
and  because  she  depends  on  her  pen  for  her  bread-and- 
water  (and  that  is  nearly  all  she  has  to  eat),  and  because 
she  is  her  own  worst  enemy,  and  because  through  her  dis 
appointment  and  disease,  which  (things)  embitter  every 
one,  she  has  struggled  most  stoutly  and  manfully,  I  could 
have  wished  you  had  let  her  pass  scot-free.  But  you  beat 
Butler  at  rhymes,  and  every  body  at  puns.  .  .  . 

The  Brownings  and  we  became  great  friends  in  Flor 
ence,  and  of  course  we  could  not  become  friends  without 
liking  each  other.  He,  Emelyn  says,  is  like  you — judge 
from  this  portrait?  He  is  of  my  size,  but  slighter,  with 
straight  black  hair,  small  eyes,  wide  apart,  which  he 
twitches  constantly  together,  a  smooth  face,  a  slightly 
aquiline  nose,  and  manners  nervous  and  rapid.  He  has  a 
great  vivacity,  but  not  the  least  humour,  some  sarcasm, 
considerable  critical  faculty,  and  very  great  frankness  and 
friendliness  of  manner  and  mind.  Mrs.  Browning  used 
to  sit  buried  up  in  a  large  easy  chair,  listening  and  talking 
very  quietly  and  pleasantly,  with  nothing  of  that  peculiarity 
which  one  would  expect  from  reading  her  poems.  Her 
eyes  are  small,  her  mouth  large,  she  wears  a  cap  and  long 
curls.  Very  unaffected  and  pleasant  and  simple-hearted 
is  she,  and  Browning  says  "  her  poems  are  the  least  good 
part  of  her."  .  .  .  Once  in  a  while  /  write  verses,  and  I 
think  I  have  written  better  here  than  ever  before  —  which 
1  The  name  under  which  Margaret  Fuller  was  satirized. 
I97 


The  Friendly  Craft 

is  not  perhaps  saying  much.     I  have  hundreds  of  statues 
in  my  head  to  make,  but  they  are  in  the  future  tense. 

Powers  I  knew  very  well  in  Florence.  He  is  a  man  of 
great  mechanical  talent  and  natural  strength  of  perception, 
but  with  no  poetry  in  his  composition,  and  I  think  no 
creative  power.  .  .  .  When  I  compare  him  to  Page  I  feel 
his  inferiority  ;  and,  after  all,  I  have  met  very  few,  if  any, 
persons  who  affect  me  so  truly  as  men  of  genius  as  Page. 
Certainly  there  are  few  artists  like  him.  .  .  . 

Mr.  and   Mrs.   Longfellow   read    Dr.    Holmes's   new 


I 


November  28,  1848 

HAD  half  a  mind  yesterday,  when  I  received  your 
volume,  to  practise  upon  you  the  old  General 
Washington  dodge  —  pardon  the  irreverential  word  —  of 
thanking  the  donor  before  reading  the  book.  But,  un 
luckily  for  my  plot,  I  happened  to  get  my  finger  between 
the  leaves,  as  Mr.  Alworthy  got  his  into  the  hand  of  Tom 
Jones,  and  felt  the  warm,  soft  pressure;  and  it  was  all  over 
with  me.  My  wife,  coming  in  at  this  juncture  of  affairs, 
was  in  like  manner  caught  ;  and  we  sat  and  read  all  the 
afternoon,  till  we  had  gone  over  all  the  new,  and  most  of 
the  old,  which  is  as  good  as  new,  and  finally  drained  "  the 
punch  bowl"  between  us,  and  shared  the  glass  of  cold 
water  which  serves  as  cul-de-lampe  to  the  volume,  and 
said,  "  It  is  divine!" 

Take  thy  place,  O  poet,  among  the  truest,  the  wittiest, 
the  tenderest,  among  the 

"  bards  that  sung 
Divine  ideas  below, 
That  always  find  us  young, 
And  always  keep  us  so." 

This  is  the  desire  and  prophecy  of  your  friend.  .  .  . 
1  08 


Adjudged  a  Failure 


Catharine    Sedgvvick   has  grave   doubts   about  "  The 
House  of  the  Seven  Gables "   ^>    ^>    ^^    <^v 

(To  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot) 

LENOX,  May  4,  1851 

"\7OUR  .mother,  after  reading  Hawthorne's  book 
J-  ["The  House  of  the  Seven  Gables"],  has  most 
kindly  and  patiently  gone  straight  through  it  again  in 
loud  reading  to  your  father  and  me.  Your  father  is  not 
a  model  listener;  ten  thousand  thoughts  of  ten  thousand 
things  to  be  done  call  him  off,  and  would  wear  out  any 
temper  but  your  mother's.  Have  you  read  it  ?  There  is 
marvellous  beauty  in  the  diction  ;  a  richness  and  origi 
nality  of  thought  that  give  the  stamp  of  unquestionable 
genius ;  a  microscopic  observation  of  the  external  world, 
and  the  keenest  analysis  of  character ;  and  elegance  and 
finish  that  is  like  the  work  of  a  master  sculptor — perfect 
in  its  artistic  details.  And  yet,  to  my  mind,  it  is  a  failure. 
It  fails  in  the  essentials  of  a  work  of  art ;  there  is  not 
essential  dignity  in  the  characters  to  make  them  worth  the 
labor  spent  on  them.  A  low-minded  vulgar  hypocrite, 
a  weak-minded  nervous  old  maid,  and  her  half-cracked 
brother,  with  nothing  but  beauty,  and  a  blind  instinctive 
love  of  the  beautiful,  are  the  chief  characters  of  the  drama. 
"  Little  Phoebe  "  is  the  redemption,  as  far  as  she  goes,  of 
the  book — a  sweet  and  perfect  flower  amidst  corruption, 
barrenness,  and  decay.  The  book  is  an  affliction.  It 
affects  me  like  a  passage  through  the  wards  of  an  insane 
asylum,  or  a  visit  to  specimens  of  morbid  anatomy.  It 
has  the  unity  and  simple  construction  of  a  Greek  tragedy, 
but  without  the  relief  of  divine  qualities  or  great  events ; 
and  the  man  takes  such  savage  delight  in  repeating  and 
repeating  the  raw  head  and  bloody  bones  of  his  imagina- 
199 


The  Friendly  Craft 

tion.  There  is  nothing  genial,  excepting  always  little 
Phoebe,  the  ideal  of  a  New  England,  sweet-tempered, 
"  accomplishing  "  village  girl.  I  might  have  liked  it  better 
when  I  was  younger,  but  as  we  go  through  the  tragedy  of 
life  we  need  elixirs,  cordials,  and  all  the  kindliest  resources 
of  the  art  of  fiction.  There  is  too  much  force  for  the  sub 
ject.  It  is  as  if  a  railroad  should  be  built  and  a  locomotive 
started  to  transport  skeletons,  specimens,  and  one  bird  of 
Paradise!  .  .  . 

Rufus  Choate  rises  from  bed  to  extol  Burke    <^>-    ^y 

(To  Charles  Sumner) 
SUMNER, —  I  have  just  had  your  letter  read 


D 


to  me  on  a  half-sick  bed,  and  get  up  redolent  of 
magnesia  and  roasted  apples,  to  embrace  you  for  your 
Burkeism  generally,  and  for  your  extracts  and  references. 
...  I  hope  you  review  Burke  in  the  N[orth]  A[tnerican 
Review],  though  I  have  not  got  it  and  do  not  say  so. 
Mind  that  he  is  the  fourth  Englishman,  —  Shakspeare, 
Bacon,  Milton,  Burke.  I  hope  you  take  one  hundred 
pages  for  the  article.  Compare,  contrast,  with  Cicero,  — 
both  knowing  all  things,  —  but  God  knows  where  to  end 
on  Burke.  No  Englishman  or  countryman  of  ours  has 
the  least  appreciation  of  Burke.  The  Whigs  never  forgave 
the  last  eight  or  ten  years  of  that  life  of  glory,  and  the 
Tories  never  forgave  what  preceded ;  and  we  poor,  un- 
idealized  democrats,  do  not  understand  his  marvellous 
English,  universal  wisdom,  illuminated,  omniscient  mind, 
and  are  afraid  of  his  principles.  What  coxcombical  rascal 
is  it  that  thinks  Bolingbroke  a  better  writer?  Take  page 
by  page  the  allusions,  the  felicities,  the  immortalities  of 
truth,  variety,  reason,  height,  depth,  everything,  — Boling 
broke  is  a  voluble  prater  to  Burke  ! 


An  Electric  Bath 

Amplify  on  his  letter  in  reply  to  the  Duke  of  Bedford. 
How  mournful,  melodious,  Cassandra-like  !  Out  of  Burke 
might  be  cut  50  Mackintoshes,  175  Macaulays,  40  Jeffreys, 
and  250  Sir  Robert  Peels,  and  leave  him  greater  than  Pitt 
and  Fox  together. 

I  seem  to  suppose  your  article  is  not  written,  —  as  I  hope 

it  is.  .  .  . 

Yours  truly,         R.  C. 

John  G.  Whittier  feels  uncomfortable  while  reading 
Browning       *^>-       <^       ^>       ^v>       ^>-       x^> 

(To  Lucy  Larcom,  1855) 

T7LIZABETH  has  been  reading  Browning's  poem 
-L-'  .  .  .  and  she  tells  me  it  is  great.  I  have  only 
dipped  into  it,  here  and  there,  but  it  is  not  exactly  com 
fortable  reading.  It  seemed  to  me  like  a  galvanic  battery 
in  full  play  —  its  spasmodic  utterances  and  intense  passion 
makes  me  feel  as  if  I  had  taken  a  bath  among  electric 
eels.  .  .  . 

William  Wetmore  Story  writes  to  Charles  Eliot  Norton 
after  Mrs.  Browning's  death        ^>       ^>       ^QV 

[DlABLERETS,  Aug.   15,  l86l] 

\HE  funeral  was  not  impressive,  as  it  ought  to 
have  been.  She  was  buried  in  the  Protestant 
cemetery  where  Theodore  Parker  lies  ;  many  of  her  friends 
were  there,  but  fewer  persons  than  I  expected  and  hoped 
to  see.  The  services  were  blundered  through  by  a  fat 
English  parson  in  a  brutally  careless  way,  and  she  was 
consigned  by  him  to  the  earth  as  if  her  clay  were  no  better 
than  any  other  clay.  .  .  .  She  is  a  great  loss  to  litera 
ture,  to  Italy  and  to  the  world  —  the  greatest  poet  among 
201 


T 


The  Friendly  Craft 

women.  What  energy  and  fire  there  was  in  that  little 
frame  ;  what  burning  words  were  winged  by  her  pen  ;  with 
what  glorious  courage  she  attacked  error,  however  strongly 
entrenched  in  custom  ;  how  bravely  she  stood  by  her  prin 
ciples  !  Never  did  I  see  any  one  whose  brow  the  world 
hurried  and  crowded  so  to  crown,  who  had  so  little  vanity 
and  so  much  pure  humility.  Praise  gratified  her  when  just 
—  blame  when  unjust  scarcely  annoyed  her.  She  could 
afford  to  let  her  work  plead  for  itself.  Ready  to  accept 
criticism,  she  never  feared  it,  but  defended  herself  with 
spirit  when  unjustly  attacked.  For  public  opinion  she 
cared  not  a  straw,  and  could  not  bear  to  be  looked  on  as 
a  lion.  Her  faiths  were  rooted  in  the  centre  of  her  being. 

Browning  is  now  with  his  sister  in  Paris.  The  house  at 
Florence  is  broken  up,  and  I  have  lost  my  best  friend  and 
daily  companion  in  Italy.  .  .  . 

The  last  thing  1  did  before  leaving  Rome  was  to  make  a 
bust  of  him  which  his  wife  was  good  enough  to  call  "per 
fect."  It  was  made  for  her  as  a  present,  but,  alas  !  you  see 
the  end  of  that.  .  .  . 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich  condemns  the  publication  of 
the  Browning  letters    *^x      <^>-      -<^>      ^>      *o 

(To  George  E.  Woodberry) 

PONKAPOG,  MASS.,/W#£  12,  1899 

DEAR   WOODBERRY, —  Don't   ever  go  away  from 
home  on  a  ten  months'  absence  without  leaving  some 
body  behind  to  answer  your  letters  for  you.     I  have  been 
swamped,  and  am  only  just  getting  my  head  out  of  my  cor 
respondence.     I  found  my  private  affairs  in  a  tangle,  too, 
and  not  easy  to  straighten  out.     But  the  slug's  in  the  bud, 
and  God's  in  the  sky,  and  the  world  is  O.K.,  as  Browning 
202 


Keats  in  Kiplingese 

incidentally  remarks.  A  propos  of  Browning,  I've  been 
reading  his  letters  to  "  Ba  "  and  "  Ba's  "  letters  to  him,  and 
think  it  a  shameful  thing  that  they  should  be  printed.  All 
that  ponderous  love-making  —  a  queer  mixture  of  Greek 
roots  and  middle-age  stickiness  ("Ba"  was  40  years  old) 
—  is  very  tedious.  Here  and  there  is  a  fine  passage,  and 
one  is  amused  by  the  way  the  lovers  patronize  everybody 
they  don't  despise.  But  as  a  whole  the  book  takes  away 
from  Browning's  l  dignity.  A  man  —  even  the  greatest  — 
cannot  stand  being  photographed  in  his  pajahmas.  Thank 
God,  we  are  spared  Shakespeare's  letters  to  Anne  Hatha 
way!  Doubtless  he  wrote  her  some  sappy  notes.  He  did 
everything  that  ever  man  did. 

We  are  gradually  breaking  up  here,  preparatory  to  mov 
ing  to  The  Crags,  which  has  been  closed  these  three  sum 
mers.  I  shall  go  there  without  any  literary  plans,  unless  I 
carry  out  my  idea  of  turning  "  The  Eve  of  St.  Agnes  "  into 
Kiplingese.  Wouldn't  it  be  delicious!  — 

St.  Hagnes  Heve !  'ow  bloomin'  chill  it  was ! 
The  Howl,  for  all  his  hulster,  was  a-cold. 
The  'are  limped  tremblin'  through  the  blarsted  grass, 
Etc.,  etc. 

I  think  it  might  make  Keats  popular  again  —  poor  Keats, 
who  didn't  know  any  better  than  to  write  pure  English. 
The  dear  boy  wasn't  "  up  "  to  writing  "  Gawd  "  instead  of 
God.  In  no  haste,  as  ever, 

T.  B.  A. 

1  P.S.  I  met  Browning  on  three  occasions.  He  was  very  cordial 
to  me  in  a  man-of-the-world  fashion.  I  did  not  care  greatly  for  him 
personally.  Good  head,  long  body,  short  legs.  Seated,  he  looked 
like  a  giant;  standing,  he  just  missed  being  a  dwarf.  He  talked 
well,  but  not  so  well  as  Lowell.  .  .  . 

203 


The   Friendly   Craft 

James  Russell  Lowell  is  not  squeamish,  but  —  ^y  ^> 
(To  Edmund  Clarence  Stedman) 

ELMWOOD,  Nov.  26,  1866 

MY  DEAR  SIR,—  ...  I  have  not  seen  Swinburne's 
new  volume  —  but  a  poem  or  two  from  it  which  I 
have  seen  shocked  me,  and  I  am  not  squeamish.  ...  I 
am  too  old  to  have  a  painted  Hetaira  palmed  off  on  me 
for  a  Muse,  and  I  hold  unchastity  of  mind  to  be  worse 
than  that  of  body.  Why  should  a  man  by  choice  go  down 
to  live  in  his  cellar,  instead  of  mounting  to  those  fair  upper 
chambers  which  look  towards  the  sunrise  of  that  Easter 
which  shall  greet  the  resurrection  of  the  soul  from  the 
body  of  this  death  ?  Virginibus  puerisque  f  To  be  sure ! 
let  no  man  write  a  line  that  he  would  not  have  his  daughter 
read.  When  a  man  begins  to  lust  after  the  Muse  instead 
of  loving  her,  he  may  be  sure  that  it  is  never  the  Muse 
that  he  embraces.  But  I  have  outlived  many  heresies, 
and  shall  outlive  this  new  Adamite  one  of  Swinburne. 
The  true  Church  of  poetry  is  founded  on  a  rock,  and  I 
have  no  fear  that  these  smutchy  back-doors  of  hell  shall 
prevail  against  her.  .  .  . 

Always  truly  yours, 

J.  R.  LOWELL 

From  "  Letters  of  James  Russell  Lowell,"  edited  by  Charles  Eliot  Norton. 
Copyright,  1893,  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 

Charles  Dudley  Warner  on  literature  and  life  -^y    *^y 

I 
(To  William  Dean  Howells,  from  Venice,  August  ^  1875) 

PHOTO  of  the  Casa  Falieri  I  cannot  find  in 
any  of  the  shops.     It   is  very  stupid  of  the 
photographers  not  to  take  one  of  the    most   picturesque 
204 


A 


Falling  in  Love  Again 

houses  in  Venice,  and  one  so  interesting  for  its  occupants. 
I  say  nothing  of  the  Falieri.  I  do  not  care  to  dig  up  the 
dead  —  but  what  a  world  this  is,  when  no  more  honour  is 
paid  to  the  man  who  has  done  more  to  bring  Venice  into 
good  repute  than  any  man  in  the  last  hundred  years,  ex 
cept  perhaps  Ruskin.  .  .  .  Americans  are  always  floating 
past  and  staring  about,  and  probably  they  don't  know  that 
in  this  very  palace  the  only  true  history  of  Egypt  and 
Rameses  II  is  now  actually  building  itself  up  day  by  day. 
Hang  it,  there  is  no  chance  for  modest  merit.  By  the 
way,  I  want  to  tell  you  something.  I  fell  in  love  with  you 
over  again  the  other  day.  I  chanced  upon  an  English 
copy  of  the  "  Italian  Journeys  "  and  re-read  it  with  intense 
enjoyment.  What  felicity,  what  delicacy.  Your  handling 
of  the  English  language  charms  me  to  the  core,  and  you 
catch  characters  and  shades  —  nu-an-ces  —  of  it.  Why  do 
I  break  out  upon  you  in  this  bold  manner?  Well,  for  this, 
you  are  writing  another  story,  probably  it  is  all  executed, 
in  fact,  now.  Probably  it  is  to  be  another  six-months' 
child.  It  will  be  as  good  as  the  other,  no  doubt,  and  that' is 
saying  everything.  But,  it  is  time  you  quit  paddling  along 
shore,  and  strike  out  into  the  open.  Ask  Mrs.  Howells 
(with  my  love)  if  it  is  not  so.  The  time  has  come  for  you 
to  make  an  opus —  not  only  a  study  on  a  large  canvas,  but 
a  picture.  Write  a  long  novel,  one  that  we  can  dive  into 
with  confidence,  and  not  feel  that  we  are  to  strike  bottom  at 
the  first  plunge.  Permit  me  the  extent  of  the  figure  —  we 
want  to  swim  in  you,  not  merely  to  lave  our  faces.  I  have 
read  Mr.  James's  "  Roderick  Hudson  "  up  to  September, 
and  I  give  in.  It  is  not  too  much  to  call  it  great.  What 
consummate  art  it  all  is,  no  straining,  but  easily  the  bull's- 
eye  every  time.  Another  noticeable  thing  is  that,  while 
it  is  calm  and  high  in  culture,  there  is  none  of  the  sneer 
in  it  or  the  cant  of  culture,  and  I  wonder  if  the  author  him- 
205 


The  Friendly  Craft 

self  knows  that  his  characters  never  seem  to  be  used  by 
him  as  stalking-horses  to  vent  an  opinion  which  the 
author  does  not  quite  care  to  father.  His  characters  al 
ways  seem  to  speak  only  for  themselves.  I  take  it  there 
is  no  better  evidence  of  the  author's  success  than 
that.  ... 

II 
(To  William  Dean  Howells,/2^>,  1876) 

MY  DEAR,  DEAR  FRIEND:  I  have  come  into 
this  land  of  Family  and  Chance  Acquaintances  and 
find  it  hot  and  dirty,  and  in  debt,  and  I  am  in  sympathy 
with  it.  It  is  only  when  I  think  of  you  and  the  dear  friends 
whose  presence  would  make  the  peninsula  of  the  White 
Sea  a  paradise  that  I  have  heart  and  resolve  to  do  as 
Cranmer  told  Ridley  to  do  under  similar  circumstances, 
play  the  man,  though  I  am  burnt  to  a  crisp.  .  .  .  Mrs. 
Warner  is  sunning  herself  in  the  thought  that  she  is  at 
home.  That  woman  is  a  deep  and  designing  patriot, 
and  would  dwell  here  forever,  if  her  plans  were  not  upset 
by  her  private  and  ill-concealed  affection  for  me.  .  .  . 
God  bless  you  for  your  generous  notice  of  the  "  Levant " 
book.  It  quite  took  my  breath  away,  and  I  am  not  sure 
I  should  have  survived,  if  it  were  not  that  Mr.  Prime  and 
General  McClellan  and  others  of  that  sort  in  New  York 
are  saying,  publicly  and  privately,  that  it  is  the  best  book 
written  on  Egypt.  I  myself  still  doubt,  however,  if  it 
is  as  good  in  all  respects  as  the  Pentateuch.  .  .  . 

Ill 

"ARK  [Twain]  says  that  "to  give  a  humorous 
book  to  Ripley  is  like  sending  a  first-chop 
paper  of  chewring  tobacco  to  a  young  ladies1  seminary  for 
them  to  review.11  .  .  . 

206 


Hollow  Affectation 

Thomas    Bailey   Aldrich   considers    Whitman's    verse 
curious  but  ineffective   ^\>     x^>     x^>     ^^     •<o> 

(To  Edmund  Clarence  Stedman) 

PONKAPOG,  MASS.,  Nov.  20,  i88o 

MY  DEAR  EDMUND,—  ...  You  seemed  to  think 
that  I  was  going  to  take  exception  to  your  paper 
on  Walt  Whitman.  It  was  all  admirably  said,  and  my 
own  opinion  did  not  run  away  from  yours  at  any  important 
point.  I  place  less  value  than  you  do  on  the  endorsement 
of  Swinburne,  Rossetti  and  Co.,  inasmuch  as  they  have 

also  endorsed  the  very  poor  paper  of .     If  Whitman 

had  been  able  (he  was  not  able,  for  he  tried  it  and  failed) 
to  put  his  thought  into  artistic  verse,  he  would  have 
attracted  little  or  no  attention,  perhaps.  Where  he  is  fine, 
he  is  fine  in  precisely  the  way  of  conventional  poets.  .  The 
greater  bulk  of  his  writing  is  neither  prose  nor  verse, 
and  certainly  is  not  an  improvement  on  either.  A  glorious 
line  now  and  then,  and  a  striking  bit  of  color  here  and 
there,  do  not  constitute  a  poet  —  especially  a  poet  for  the 
People.  There  never  was  a  poet  so  calculated  to  please 
a  very  few.  As  you  say,  he  will  probably  be  hereafter 
exhumed  and  anatomized  by  learned  surgeons  —  who  prefer 
a  subject  with  thin  shoulder-blades  or  some  abnormal 
organ  to  a  well-regulated  corpse.  But  he  will  never  be 
regarded  in  the  same  light  as  Villon.  Villon  spoke  in 
the  tone  and  language  of  his  own  period :  what  is  quaint 
or  fantastic  to  us  was  natural  to  him.  He  was  a  master 
of  versification.  Whitman's  manner  is  a  hollow  affecta 
tion,  and  represents  neither  the  man  nor  the  time.  As 
the  voice  of  the  igth  century  he  will  have  little  signifi 
cance  in  the  2ist.  That  he  will  outlast  the  majority  of 
his  contemporaries,  I  haven't  the  faintest  doubt  —  but 
207 


The  Friendly  Craft 

it  will  be  in  a  glass  case  or  a  quart  of  spirits  in  an 
anatomical  -museum.  While  we  are  on  the  topic  of  poetry, 
and  I've  the  space  to  say  it,  I  want  to  tell  you  that  I 
thought  the  poem  on  Gifford  exquisite,  particularly  the 
second  division.  The  blank  verse  was  wholly  your  own, 
"not  Lancelot's  nor  another's''  —  as  mine  always  is.  ... 
I  am  curious  to  see  your  review  of  Mrs.  Fields's  "  Under 
the  Olive."  Here's  a  New  England  woman  blowing 
very  sweet  breath  through  Pandean  pipes!  What  un 
expected  antique  music  to  come  up  from  Manchester-by- 
the-Sea!  I  admire  it  all  greatly,  as  a  reproduction.  Mrs. 
Fields's  work  in  this  represents  only  her  intellect  and  its 
training :  I  don't  find  her  personality  anywhere.  The 
joys  and  sorrows  she  sings  are  our  own  to-day,  but  she 
presents  them  in  such  a  manner  as  to  make  them  seem 
aside  from  our  experience.  To  my  thinking  a  single  drop 
of  pure  Yankee  blood  is  richer  than  a  thousand  urnfuls  of 
Greek  dust.  At  the  same  time,  I  like  a  cinerary  urn  on 
the  corner  of  my  mantel-shelf,  for  decoration.  This  is  the 
narrow  view  of  a  man  who  doesn't  know  Greek  literature 
except  through  translation.  ...  Her  poem  must  have 
interested  you  vastly.  It  is  the  most  remarkable  volume 
of  verse  ever  printed  by  an  American  woman.  Don't  you 
think  so?  Your  review  will  answer  me.  While  we  are  on 
marbleized  classical  subjects,  let  me  beg  you  to  read  my 
sketch  of  "  Smith "  in  the  January  number  of  the 
"  Atlantic."  Plutarch  beaten  on  his  own  ground ! 

With  our  love,  T.  B.  ALDRICH 


208 


Overshadowing  Fame 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich  discusses  his  own  and  others' 
poems       x^     x^      ^^      x;^>      ^>     "^     "^^ 

(To  Hamilton  W.  Mabie) 

MT.  VERNON  ST.,  BOSTON,  Dec.  4,  1897 

MY  DEAR  MABIE,  — Your  paper  in  the  last  "Chap 
Book  "  places  me  in  all  sorts  of  grateful  debt  to  you. 
After  thanking  you  for  the  judicial  kindness  of  the  criticism 
I  want  to  tell  you  how  deeply  it  interested  me  at  certain 
special  points.  You  have,  in  a  way,  made  me  better  ac 
quainted  with  myself.  Until  you  said  it,  I  was  not  aware, 
or  only  vaguely  aware,  of  how  heavily  we  younger  writers 
were  overshadowed  and  handicapped  by  the  fame  of  the 
reformatory  and  didactic  group  of  poets,  the  chiefs  of 
which  were  of  course  Whittier  and  Lowell :  the  others 
were  only  incidentally  reformers,  and  Holmes  was  no  re 
former  at  all.  But  they  all  with  their  various  voices 
monopolized  the  public  ear.  So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I 
did  not  wholly  realize  this,  for  even  long  before  I  had  won 
an  appreciable  number  of  listeners  these  same  men  had 
given  me  great  encouragement.  I  don't  think  that  any 
four  famous  authors  were  ever  so  kind  to  an  obscure  young 
man  as  Hawthorne,  Whittier,  Lowell,  and  Holmes  were  to 
me.  I  wish  to  show  you,  some  day,  a  letter  which  Haw 
thorne  wrote  to  me  thirty-four  years  ago. 

I  like  to  have  you  say  that  I  have  always  cared  more  for 
the  integrity  of  my  work  than  for  any  chance  popularity. 
And  what  you  say  of  my  " aloofness  "  as  being  "due  in 
part  to  a  lack  of  quick  sympathies  with  contemporary 
experience11  (though  I  had  never  before  thought  of  it) 
shows  true  insight.  To  be  sure,  such  verse  as  "Elm- 
wood,11  "  Wendell  Phillips,11  "  Unguarded  Gates,"  and  the 
"  Shaw  Memorial  Ode  "  would  seem  somewhat  to  condi- 
p  209 


The  Friendly  Craft 

tion  the  statement  ;  but  the  mood  of  these  poems  is  not 
habitual  with  me,  nor  characteristic.  They  did,  however, 
grow  out  of  strong  convictions.  ...  I  have  always  been 
instinctively  shy  of  "  topics  of  the  day."  A  good  poem 
on  some  passing  event  is  certain  of  instant  success  ;  but 
when  the  event  is  passed,  few  things  are  more  certain  of 
oblivion.  Jones'  or  Smith's  lines  "  to  my  lady's  eye 
brow" —  which  is  lovely  in  every  age  —  will  outlive  nine 
tenths  of  the  noisy  verse  of  our  stress  and  storm  period. 
Smith  or  Jones,  who  never  dreamed  of  having  a  Mission, 
will  placidly  sweep  down  to  posterity  over  the  fall  of  a 
girl's  eyelash,  leaving  about  all  the  shrill  didactic  singers 
high  and  dry  "on  the  sands  of  time."  Enviable  Jones,  or 
Smith  !  .  .  . 
Believe  me,  your  sincere  friend,  T.  B.  ALDRICH 

Of  the  curative  properties  of  poetry,  and  of  the  kind 
that  should  be  taken  homeopathically     *^>      -^ 
(John  G.  Whittier  to  Mrs.  Annie  Fields) 

-id  mo.,  9,  1888 

AM  delighted  to  have  such  a  favorable  report 
from  thee  by  Sarah's  nice  letter.  Sitting  by  the 
peat  fire,  listening  to  Lowell's  reading  of  his  own  verses ! 
A  convalescent  princess  with  her  minstrel  in  attendance! 
There  may  be  a  question  as  to  curative  properties  of  Dr. 
Lowell's  dose,  but  that  its  flavor  was  agreeable  I  have  no 
doubt.  My  own  experience  of  the  poetry  cure  was  not 
satisfactory.  Some  years  ago,  when  I  was  slowly  getting 
up  from  illness,  an  honest  friend  of  mine,  an  orthodox 
minister,  in  the  very  kindness  of  his  heart  thought  to  help 
me  on  by  administering  a  poem  in  five  cantos,  illustrating 
the  five  points  of  Calvinism.  I  could  only  take  a  homeo 
pathic  dose  of  it.  Its  unmistakable  flavor  of  brimstone 
210 


I 


M' 


Newspaper  Jokes 

disagreed  with   my  stomach,  probably  because    I    was   a 
Quaker.   .   .  . 

Charles    Godfrey    Leland    deplores    the    change    in 
American  humor     ^^    *^>     <^x     <^     ^>     ^o 

(To  Miss  Mary  A.  Owen) 
HOTEL  VICTORIA,  FLORENCE,  Feb.  3d,  1895 
"ANY  thanks  for  the  letter,  which  is  indeed  a 
letter  worth  reading,  which  few  are  in  these 
days  when  so  few  people  write  anything  but  notes  or  rub 
bish.  Be  sure  of  one  thing,  that  yours  are  always  read 
with  a  relish.  For  it  is  marvellously  true  that  as  tools  are 
never  wanting  to  an  artist,  there  is  always  abundance  to 
make  a  letter  with  to  those  who  know  how  to  write.  There 
is  always  something  to  "right  about"  —  or  to  turn  round 
t'o  and  see!  Dapprimo,  I  thank  you  for  the  jokes  from  the 
newspapers.  They  are  very  good,  but  I  observe  that  since 
I  was  in  America,  the  real  old  extravaganza,  the  wild 
eccentric  outburst,  is  disappearing  from  country  papers. 
No  editor  bursts  now  on  his  readers  all  at  once  with  the 
awful  question,  "If  ink  stands  why  does  n't  it  walk?" 
Nor  have  I  heard  for  years  of  the  old-fashioned  sequences, 
when  one  man  began  with  a  verse  of  poetry  and  every 
small  newspaper  reprinted  it,  adding  a  parody.  Thus 
they  began  with  Ann  Tiquity  and  then  added  Ann  Gelic 
and  Ann  CTDyne —  till  they  had  finished  the  Anns.  Em 
erson's  "  Brahma"  elicited  hundreds  of  parodies,  till  he 
actually  suppressed  it. 

Then  there  were  the  wild  outbursts  of  poems  such  as  — 

I  seen  her  out  a-walking 
In  her  habit  de  la  rue, 
And  't  aint  no  use  a-talking  — 
But  she's  pumpkins  and  a  few. 
211 


The  Friendly  Craft 

There  was  something  Indian-like,  aboriginal,  and  wild  in 
the  American  fun  of  40  years  ago  (vide  Albert  Pike's 
"  Arkansas  Gentleman  "  and  the  "  Harp  of  a  Thousand 
Strings  ")  which  has  no  parallel  now.  My  own  "  beautiful 
poem"  on  a  girl  who  had  her  underskirt  made  out  of  a 
coffee  bag  was  republished  a  thousand  times,  —  we  were 
wilder  in  those  days,  and  more  eccentric.  All  of  these 
which  you  send  are  very  good,  but  they  might  all  have 
been  made  in  England.  They  are  mild.  Ere  long,  there 
will  be  no  America.  .  .  . 


Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich  on  letter  writers    •xQy    ^>    <>y 
(To  Laurence  Hutton) 

PONKAPOG,  MASS.,  Oct.  31,  1893 

DEAR  LAURENCE,  —  Of  course  I  would  a  hundred 
times  rather  sojourn  with  your  death-masks  than 
stick  myself  up  in  that  room  at  The  Players,  where  memory 
never  lets  go  its  grip  on  me  for  a  moment.  .  .  . 

I  have  n't  seen  Winter's  book  yet.  I  did  n't  know  that 
there  were  any  words  of  mine  in  it.1  He  must  have  quoted 
something  from  one  of  my  letters.  It  was  nothing  I  in 
tended  to  be  printed,  of  course.  I  hope  it  was  not  too 
intime^  for  I  don't  like  to  wear  my  heart  on  my  sleeve.  The 
more  I  feel,  the  less  I  say  about  it.  ... 

I've  just  been  reading  Lowell's  letters.  How  good  and 
how  poor  they  are!  Nearly  all  of  them  are  too  self-con 
scious.  Emerson  and  Whittier  are  about  the  only  men  in 
that  famous  group  who  were  not  thinking  about  themselves 
the  whole  while.  They  were  too  simple  to  pose,  or  to  be 
intentionally  brilliant.  Emerson  shed  his  silver  like  the 

1  See  page  346. 
212 


A  Musical  Humbug 

moon,    without   knowing   it.     However,  we   all  can't   be 
great  and  modest  at  the  same  moment! 

Ever  yours,  T.  B.  A. 

Tell  Mark  that  I  love  him  just  the  same  as  if  he  had  n't 
written  successful  books. 

De  gustibus  non  disputandum     <^»    -<^y    <^x    <^>    "six 

I 
(Bret  Harte  to  his  wife) 

CREFELDj/tf^zmry  22,  1879 

MY  DEAR  ANNA,  — Mrs.  Bayard  Taylor  has  sent 
me  a  book  of  her  late  husband's,  and  a  very  kind 
note,  and  it  occurs  to  me  to  enclose  to  you  to-day  the  letter 
I  received  from  her  in  answer  to  one  I  wrote  her  after 
hearing  of  her  husband's  death.  You  remember  that  I  did 
not  feel  very  kindly  towards  him,  nor  had  he  troubled 
himself  much  about  me  when  I  came  here  alone  and 
friendless,  but  his  death  choked  back  my  resentment,  and 
what  I  wrote  to  her  and  afterwards  in  the  Tageblatt,  I  felt 
very  honestly. 

I  have  been  several  times  to  the  opera  at  Dlisseldorf, 
and  I  have  been  hesitating  whether  I  should  slowly  pre 
pare  you  for  a  great  shock  or  tell  you  at  once  that  musical 
Germany  is  a  humbug.  It  had  struck  me  during  the  last 
two  months  that  I  had  really  heard  nothing  good  in  the 
way  of  music  or  even  as  good  as  I  have  heard  in  America, 
and  it  was  only  a  week  ago  that  hearing  a  piano  played  in 
an  adjoining  house,  and  played  badly  at  that,  I  was  sud 
denly  struck  with  the  fact  that  it  was  really  the  first  piano 
that  I  had  heard  in  Germany.  I  have  heard  orchestras 
at  concerts  and  military  bands ;  but  no  better  than  in 
America.  My  first  operatic  experience  was  Tannhauser. 
I  can  see  your  superior  smile,  Anna,  at  this ;  and  I  know 
213 


The  Friendly  Craft 

how  you  will  take  my  criticism  of  Wagner,  so  I  don't  mind 
saying  plainly,  that  it  was  the  most  diabolically  hideous 
and  stupidly  monotonous  performance  I  ever  heard.  I 
shall  say  nothing  about  the  orchestral  harmonies,  for  there 
wasn't  anything  going  on  of  that  kind,  unless  you  call 
something  that  seemed  like  a  boiler  factory  at  work  in  the 
next  street,  and  the  wind  whistling  through  the  rigging  of 
a  channel  steamer,  harmony.  But  I  must  say  one  thing! 
In  the  third  act,  I  think,  Tannhauser  and  two  other  min 
strels  sing  before  the  King  and  Court  to  the  accompaniment 
of  their  harps  —  and  the  boiler  factory.  Each  minstrel 
sang  or  rather  declaimed  something  like  the  multiplication 
table  for  about  twenty  minutes.  Tannhauser,  when  his 
turn  came,  declaimed  longer,  and  more  lugubriously,  and 
ponderously  and  monotonously  than  the  others,  and  went 
into  "nine  times  nine  are  eighty-one"  and  "ten  times  ten 
are  twenty,"  when  suddenly  when  he  had  finished  they  all 
drew  their  swords  and  rushed  at  him.  I  turned  to  General 
Von  Rauch  and  said  to  him  that  I  didn't  wonder  at  it. 
"Ah," said  he,  "you  know  the  story  then?"  "No,  not  ex 
actly,"  I  replied.  "  Ja  wohl,"  said  Von  Rauch,  "  the  story 
is  that  these  minstrels  are  all  singing  in  praise  of  Love, 
but  they  are  furious  at  Tannhauser  who  loves  Hilda,  the 
German  Venus,  for  singing  in  the  praise  of  Love  so  wildly, 
so  warmly,  so  passionately ! "  Then  I  concluded  that  I 
really  did  not  understand  Wagner. 

But  what  I  wanted  to  say  was  that  even  my  poor  unedu 
cated  ear  detected  bad  instrumentation  and  worse  singing 
in  the  choruses.  I  confided  this  much  to  a  friend,  and  he 
said  very  frankly  that  I  was  probably  right,  that  the  best 
musicians  and  choruses  went  to  America ! 

Then  I  was  awfully  disappointed  in  "  Faust "  or,  as  it  is 
known  here  in  the  playbills,  "  Marguerite."  You  know 
how  I  love  that  delicious  idyl  of  Gounod's  and  I  was  in  my 
214 


Magnificent  Acting 

seat  that  night  long  before  the  curtain  went  up.  Before 
the  first  act  was  over  I  felt  like  leaving,  and  yet  I  was  glad 
1  stayed.  For  although  the  chorus  of  villagers  was  fright 
ful,  and  Faust  and  Mephistopheles  spouted  and  declaimed 
blank  verse  at  each  other  —  whole  pages  of  Goethe,  yet 
the  acting  was  good.  The  music  was  a  little  better  in  the 
next  act,  and  the  acting  was  superb.  I  have  never  seen 
such  a  Marguerite !  From  the  time  she  first  meets  Faust 
with  that' pert  rebuke  until  the  final  scenes  she  was  perfect. 
The  prayer  in  the  church  —  the  church  interior  represented 
with  kneeling  figures  and  service  going  on  —  such  as  they 
dare  not  represent  in  England  —  was  most  wonderful.  I 
can  see  her  yet,  passing  from  one  to  another  of  the  kneel 
ing  groups  as  the  women  draw  away  from  her,  and  as  she 
knelt  in  a  blind  groping  way  with  her  fingers  mechanically 
turning  the  leaves  of  her  prayer-book,  and  the  voice  of 
Mephistopheles  mingling  with  the  music,  until,  with  one 
wild  shriek  she  threw  the  book  away.  Then  it  was  that  I 
jumped  up  in  my  seat  and  applauded.  But  think  of  my 
coming  to  Germany  to  hear  opera  badly  sung,  and  mag 
nificently  acted! 

I  saw  Der  Freisch'iitz  after  this,  but  it  was  not  so  well 
acted,  and  awfully  sung.  Yet  the  scenery  was  wonderfully 
good  and  the  costumes  historically  perfect.  The  audi 
ences  from  Cologne  to  Dlisseldorf  are  all  the  same,  stiff, 
formal,  plainly  dressed,  all  except  the  officers.  The  opera 
audience  at  Cologne  look  like  an  American  prayer-meeting. 

I  have  written  Frankie  and  Wodie.  Unless  my  lecture 
tour  is  postponed,  I  shall  not  write  you  again  until  I  get  to 
London.  And  then  I  shall  be  so  busy  I  can  only  give  you 
the  news  of  success.  —  God  bless  you  all. 

FRANK 


215 


A 


The  Friendly  Craft 
II 

(Sidney  Lanier  to  his  wife) 

NEW  YORK,  August  15,  1870 

H,  how  they  have  belied  Wagner !  I  heard 
Theodore  Thomas1  orchestra  play  his  overture 
to  "  Tannhauser.11  The  "  Music  of  the  Future  "  is  surely 
thy  music  and  my  music.  Each  harmony  was  a  chorus  of 
pure  aspirations.  The  sequences  flowed  along,  one  after 
another,  as  if  all  the  great  and  noble  deeds  of  time  had 
formed  a  procession  and  marched  in  review  before  one's 
ears,  instead  of  one's  eyes.  These  "great  and  noble 
deeds11  were  not  deeds  of  war  and  statesmanship,  but 
majestic  victories  of  inner  struggles  of  a  man.  This  un 
broken  march  of  beautiful-bodied  Triumphs  irresistibly 
invites  the  soul  of  a  man  to  create  other  processions  like 
it.  I  would  I  might  lead  a  so  magnificent  file  of  glories 
into  heaven  !  .  .  . 


IX 


THE   WIDE,   WIDE   WORLD 

Governor  Winthrop  bids  his  wife  prepare  for  an  ocean 
voyage    ^><^^^^v-<^^^<^v^^ 

MY  DEARE  WIFE,  — I  wrote  to  thee  by  my  brother 
Arthur,  but  I  durst  write  no  more  then  I  need  not 
care  though  it  miscarried,  for  I  found  him  the  olde  man 
still ;  yet  I  would  have  kept  him  to  ease  my  brother,  but 
that  his  owne  desire  to  returne,  &  the  scarcitye  of  provi 
sions    heer,  yielded   the  stronger   reason  to  let  him  goe. 
Now  (my  good  wife)  let  us  ioyne  in  praysinge  or  mercifull 
God,  that  (howsoever  he  hath  afflicted  us,  both  generally 
216 


Sweet  &  Wholesome   Fare 

&  particularly  mine  owne  family  in  his  stroke  upon  m) 
sonne  Henry)  yet  myselfe  &  the  rest  of  or  children  & 
familye  are  safe  &  in  health,  &  that  he  upholds  or  hearts 
that  we  fainte  not  in  all  or  troubles,  but  can  yet  waite  for  a 
good  issue.  And  howsoever  our  fare  be  but  coarse  in  re 
spect  of  what  we  formerly  had,  (pease,  puddings  &  fish, 
being  or  ordinary  diet,)  yet  he  makes  it  sweet  &  whole 
some  to  us,  that  I  may  truly  say  I  desire  no  better :  Besides 
in  this,  that  he  beginnes  wth  us  thus  in  affliction,  it  is  the 
greater  argument  to  us  of  his  love,  £  of  the  goodnesse  of 
the  worke  wch  we  are  about ;  for  Sathan  bends  his  forces 
against  us,  &  stirres  up  his  instruments  to  all  kinde  of  mis 
chief,  so  that  I  thinke  heere  are  some  persons  who  never 
shewed  so  much  wickednesse  in  England  as  they  have  donne 
heer.  Therefore  be  not  discouraged  (my  deare  Wife)  by 
anythinge  thou  shalt  heare  from  hence,  for  I  see  no  cause 
to  repente  of  or  coming  hether,  £  thou  seest  (by  or  experi 
ence)  that  God  can  bringe  safe  hether  even  the  tenderest 
women  &  the  youngest  children  (as  he  did  many  in  diverse 
shippes,  though  the  voyage  were  more  teadious  than  for 
merly  hath  been  knowne  in  this  season.)  Be  sure  to  be 
warme  clothed,  &  to  have  store  of  fresh  provisions,  meale, 
eggs  putt  up  in  salt  or  grounde  mault,  butter,  ote  meale, 
pease,  &  fruits,  &  a  large  stronge  chest  or  2  :  well  locked, 
to  keeps  these  provisions  in ;  &  be  sure  they  be  bestowed 
in  the  shippe  where  they  may  be  readily  come  by,  (wch  the 
boatswaine  will  see  to  &  the  quarter  masters,  if  they  be 
rewarded  beforehande,)  but  for  these  thinges  my  sonne  will 
take  care  :  Be  sure  to  have  ready  at  sea  2  :  or  3  :  skilletts 
of  severall  syzes,  a  large  fryinge  panne,  a  small  stewinge 
panne,  &  a  case  to  boyle  a  pudding  in  ;  store  of  linnen  for 
use  at  sea,  &  sacke  to  bestow  among  the  saylers  :  some 
drinkinge  vessells,  &  peuter  £  other  vessells  :  &  for  phisick 
you  shall  need  no  other  but  a  pound  of  Doctor  Wright's 
217 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Electuariu  lenitivu,  &  his  direction  to  use  it,  a  gallon  of 
scirvy  grasse  to  drinke  a  little  5  :  or  6  :  morninges  togither, 
wth  some  saltpeter  dissolved  in  it,  &  a  little  grated  or  sliced 
nutmege. 

Thou  must  be  sure  to  bringe  no  more  companye  then 
so  many  as  shall  have  full  provisid  for  a  yeare  &  a  halfe, 
for  though  the  earth  heere  be  very  fertile  yet  there  must  be 
tyme  &  meanes  to  rayse  it;  if  we  have  corne  enough  we 
may  live  plentifully.  Yet  all  these  are  but  the  meanes  wch 
God  hath  ordayned  to  doe  us  good  by :  or  eyes  must  be 
towards  him,  who  as  he  can  wthhould  blessings  from  the 
strongest  meanes,  so  he  can  give  sufficient  vertue  to 
the  weakest.  I  am  so  straightened  wth  much  businesse, 
as  can  no  waye  satisfye  myselfe  in  wrightinge  to  thee.  The 
Lorde  will  in  due  tyme  lett  us  see  the  faces  of  each  other 
againe  to  or  great  comfort :  Now  the  Lord  in  mercye 
blesse,  guide  &  supporte  thee  :  I  kisse  &  embrace  thee 
my  deare  wife.  I  kisse  &  blesse  you  all  my  deare  chil 
dren,  Forth,  Mary,  Deane,  Sam,  &  the  other :  the  Lorde 
keepe  you  all  &  worke  his  true  feare  in  yor  hearts.  The 
blessing  of  the  Lorde  be  upon  all  my  servants,  whom  salute 
from  me,  Jo  :  Sanford,  Amy  &c,  Goldstone,  Pease,  Chote 
&c. :  my  good  freinds  at  Castlins  &  all  my  good  neighbors, 
good  man  Cole  &  his  good  wife,  &  all  the  rest : 

Remember  to  come  well  furnished  wth  linnen,  woollen, 
some  more  beddinge,  brasse,  peuter,  leather  bottells,  drink- 
inge  homes  &c. :  let  my  sonne  provide  12  :  axes  of  severall 
sorts  of  the  Braintree  Smithe,  or  some  other  prime  work 
man,  whatever  they  coste,  &  some  Augers  great  &  smale, 
&  many  other  necessary es  wch  I  can't  now  thinke  of,  as 
candles,  sope,  &  store  of  beife  suett,  &c. :  once  againe  fare 
well  my  deare  wife. 

Thy  faithfull  husband  Jo  :  WINTHROP 

Charlton  in  N  :  England  July  23  :   1630. 
218 


Decorum   Yields  to   Necessity 

Abigail  Adams  suffers  the  indelicacy  of  sea-sickness 
(To  Mrs.  Cranch) 

On  board  ship  Active,  Latitude  44,  Longitude  34.  Tuesday, 
6  July,  1784.     From  the  Ocean 

MY  DEAR  SISTER, 
I  have  been  sixteen  days  at  sea,  and  have  not  at 
tempted  to  write  a  single  letter.     Tis  true,  I  have  kept  a 
journal  whenever  I  was  able  ;  but  that  must  be  close  locked 
up,  unless  I  was  sure  to  hand  it  you  with  safety. 

'Tis  said  cf  Cato,  the  Roman  Censor,  that  one  of  the 
three  things  which  he  regretted  during  his  life,  was  going 
once  by  sea  when  he  might  have  made  his  journey  by 
land.  I  fancy  the  philosopher  was  not  proof  against  that 
most  disheartening,  dispiriting  malady,  sea-sickness.  Of 
this  I  am  very  sure,  that  no  lady  would  ever  wish  a  second 
time  to  try  the  sea,  were  the  objects  of  her  pursuit  within 
the  reach  of  a  land  journey.  I  have  had  frequent  occasion, 
since  I  came  on  board,  to  recollect  an  observation  of  my 
best  friend's,  "  that  no  being  in  nature  was  so  disagreeable 
as  a  lady  at  sea,"  and  this  recollection  has  in  a  great  meas 
ure  reconciled  me  to  the  thought  of  being  at  sea  without 
him ;  for  one  would  not  wish,  my  dear  sister,  to  be  thought 
of  in  that  light  by  those,  to  whom  we  would  wish  to  appear 
in  our  best  array.  The  decency  and  decorum  of  the  most 
delicate  female  must  in  some  measure  yield  to  the  necessi 
ties  of  nature  ;  and,  if  you  have  no  female  capable  of  ren 
dering  you  the  least  assistance,  you  will  feel  grateful  to  any 
one  who  will  feel  for  you,  and  relieve  or  compassionate 
your  sufferings. 

And  this  was  truly  the  case  of  your  poor  sister  and  all 
her  female  companions,  when  not  one  of  us  could  make  her 
own  bed,  put  on  or  take  off  her  shoes,  or  even  lift  a  finger. 
219 


The  Friendly  Craft 

As  to  our  other  clothing,  we  wore  the  greater  part  of  it 
until  we  were  able  to  help  ourselves.  Added  to  this  mis 
fortune,  Briesler,  my  man-servant,  was  as  bad  as  any  of 
us.  But  for  Job,  I  know  not  what  we  should  have  done. 
Kind,  attentive,  quick,  neat,  he  was  our  nurse  for  two  days 
and  nights  ;  and,  from  handling  the  sails  at  the  top-gallant- 
mast  head,  to  the  more  feminine  employment  of  making 
wine-cordial,  he  has  not  his  equal  on  board.  In  short,  he 
is  the  favorite  of  the  whole  ship.  Our  sickness  continued 
for  ten  days,  with  some  intermissions.  We  crawled  upon 
deck  whenever  we  were  able  ;  but  it  was  so  cold  and  damp, 
that  we  could  not  remain  long  upon  it.  And  the  confine 
ment  of  the  air  below,  the  constant  rolling  of  the  vessel, 
and  the  nausea  of  the  ship,  which  was  much  too  tight,  con 
tributed  to  keep  up  our  disease.  The  vessel  is  very  deep 
loaded  with  oil  and  potash.  The  oil  leaks,  the  potash 
smokes  and  ferments.  All  adds  to  i\\e  flavor.  When  you 
add  to  all  this  the  horrid  dirtiness  of  the  ship,  the  sloven 
liness  of  the  steward,  and  the  unavoidable  slopping  and 
spilling  occasioned  by  the  tossing  of  the  ship,  I  am  sure 
you  will  be  thankful  that  the  pen  is  not  in  the  hand  of 
Swift  or  Smollet,  and  still  more  so  that  you  are  far  re 
moved  from  the  scene.  No  sooner  was  I  able  to  move, 
than  I  found  it  necessary  to  make  a  bustle  amongst  the 
waiters,  and  demand  a  cleaner  abode.  By  this  time, 
Briesler  was  upon  his  feet,  and,  as  I  found  I  might  reign 
mistress  on  board  without  any  offence,  I  soon  exerted  my 
authority  with  scrapers,  mops,  brushes,  infusions  of  vine 
gar,  &c.,  and  in  a  few  hours  you  would  have  thought  your 
self  in  a  different  ship.  Since  which,  our  abode  is  much 
more  tolerable,  and  the  gentlemen  all  thank  me  for  my 
care.  .  .  . 

Our  accommodations  on  board  are  not  what  I  could  wish, 
or  hoped  for.     We  cannot  be  alone,  only  when  the  gentle- 
220 


An  Indelicate  Situation 

men  are  thoughtful  enough  to  retire  upon  deck,  which  the} 
do  for  about  an  hour  in  the  course  of  the  day.  Our  state 
rooms  are  about  half  as  large  as  cousin  Betsey's  little 
chamber,  with  two  cabins  in  each  Mine  had  three,  but  I 
could  not  live  so.  Upon  which  "Mrs.  Adams's  brother  gave 
up  his  to  Abby,  and  we  are  now  stowed  two  and  two. 
This  place  has  a  small  grated  window,  which  opens  into 
the  companion-way,  and  by  this  is  the  only  air  admitted. 
The  door  opens  into  the  cabin,  where  the  gentlemen  all 
sleep,  and  where  we  sit,  dine,  &c.  We  can  only  live 
with  our  door  shut,  whilst  we  dress  and  undress.  Neces 
sity  has  no  law  ;  but  what  should  I  have  thought  on  shore, 
to  have  laid  myself  down  to  sleep  in  common  with  half  a 
dozen  gentlemen?  We  have  curtains,  it  is  true,  and  we 
only  in  part  undress,  about  as  much  as  the  Yankee 
bundlers ;  but  we  have  the  satisfaction  of  falling  in  with  a 
set  of  well-behaved,  decent  gentlemen,  whose  whole  de 
portment  is  agreeable  to  the  strictest  delicacy,  both  in 
word  and  action.  .  .  . 

Gouverneur  Morris  journeys  to  the  "  far  west,"  sees 
Niagara,  and  prophesies  the  future  of  the  country 

(To  John  Parrish,  Jan.  20,  1801) 

'T^HERE  is  a  brilliance  in  our  atmosphere  you  can 
-L  have  no  idea  of,  except  by  going  to  Italy,  or  else 
by  viewing  one  of  Claude  Lorraine's  best  landscapes,  and 
persuading  yourself  that  the  light  there  exhibited  is  a  just 
though  faint  copy  of  nature.  I  believe  there  is  much  more 
water  in  the  St.  Lawrence  than  in  the  Danube  at  Vienna. 
Of  the  rapids  I  can  say  nothing ;  still  less  can  I  pretend 
to  convey  to  you  the  sentiment  excited  by  a  view  of  the 
lake.  It  is  to  all  purposes  of  human  vision  an  ocean  : 
the  same  majestic  motion,  too,  in  its  billows.  ...  To 
221 


The  Friendly  Craft 

form  a  faint  idea  of  the  Cataract  of  Niagara,  imagine  that 
you  saw  the  Firth  of  Forth  rush  wrathfully  down  a  steep 
descent,  leap  foaming  over  a  perpendicular  rock  qne  hun 
dred  and  seventy  feet  high,  then  flow  away  in  the  sem 
blance  of  milk  from  a  basin  of  emerald.  A  quiet,  gentle 
stream  leaves  the  shores  of  a  country  level  and  fertile,  and 
along  the  banks  of  this  stream  we  proceed  to  Fort  Erie. 
Here  again  the  boundless  waste  of  waters  fills  the  mind 
with  renewed  astonishment,  and  here,  as  in  turning  a 
point  of  wood  the  lake  broke  on  my  view,  I  saw  riding 
at  anchor  nine  vessels,  the  least  of  them  above  a  hundred 
tons.  Can  you  bring  your  imagination  to  realize  this 
scene?  Does  it  not  seem  like  magic?  Yet  this  magic  is 
but  the  early  effort  of  victorious  industry.  Hundreds  of 
large  ships  will,  in  no  distant  period,  bound  on  the  billows 
of  these  inland  seas.  At  this  point  commences  a  naviga 
tion  of  more  than  a  thousand  miles.  Shall  I  lead  your 
astonishment  up  to  the  verge  of  incredulity?  I  will. 
Know,  then,  that  one-tenth  of  the  expense  borne  by 
Britain  in  the  last  campaign  would  enable  ships  to  sail 
from  London  through  Hudson's  River  into  Lake  Erie. 
As  yet,  my  friend,  we  only  crawl  along  the  outer  edge  of 
our  country.  The  interior  excels  the  part  we  inhabit  in 
soil,  in  climate,  in  everything. 

The  proudest  empire  in  Europe  is  but  a  bubble  com 
pared  to  what  America  will  be,  must  be,  in  the  course  of 
two  centuries  —  perhaps  of  one.  .  .  . 

Dr.  Holmes  rails  against  taverns        *^y        -<^y        *s>y 

(To  James  T.  Fields) 

MONTREAL,  October  23,  1867 

DEAR   MR.    FIELDS,  —  ...  I    am  as   comfortable 
here  as  I  can   be,  but  I  have  earned  my  money,  for 
I  have  had  a  full  share  of  my  old  trouble.     Last  night  was 
222 


What  Don't  They  Do? 

better,  and  to-day  I  am  going  about  the  town.  Miss 
Frothingham  sent  me  a  basket  of  black  Hamburg  grapes 
to-day,  which  were  very  grateful  after  the  hotel  tea  and 
coffee  and  other  'pothecary's  stuff. 

Don't  talk  to  me  about  taverns!  There  is  just  one 
genuine,  clean,  decent,  palatable  thing  occasionally  to  be 
had  in  them — namely,  a  boiled  egg.  The  soups  taste 
pretty  good  sometimes,  but  their  sources  are  involved  in 
a  darker  mystery  than  that  of  the  Nile.  Omelets  taste  as 
if  they  had  been  carried  in  the  waiter's  hat  or  fried  in  an 
old  boot.  I  ordered  scrambled  eggs  one  day.  It  must 
be  that  they  had  been  scrambled  for  by  somebody,  but 
who  —  who  in  the  possession  of  a  sound  reason  could  \&m 
scrambled  for  what  I  had  set  before  me  under  that  name? 
Butter!  I  am  thinking  just  now  of  those  exquisite  little 
pellets  I  have  so  often  seen  at  your  table,  and  wondering 
why  the  taverns  always  keep  it  until  it  is  old.  Fool  that 
I  am !  As  if  the  taverns  did  not  know  that  if  it  was  good 
it  would  be  eaten,  which  is  not  what  they  want.  Then  the 
waiters  with  their  napkins  —  what  don't  they  do  with  those 
napkins !  Mention  any  one  thing  of  which  you  think  you 
can  say  with  truth,  "  That  they  do  not  do."  .  .  . 

I  have  a  really  fine  parlor,  but  every  time  I  enter  it  I 
perceive  that 

Still,  sad  "  odor  "  of  humanity 

which  clings  to  it  from  my  predecessor.  Mr.  Hogan  got 
home  yesterday,  I  believe.  I  saw  him  for  the  first  time 
to-day.  He  was  civil  —  they  all  are  civil.  I  have  no 
fault  to  find  except  with  taverns  here  and  pretty  much 
everywhere. 

Every  six  months  a  tavern  should  burn  to  the  ground, 
with  all  its  traps,  its  "properties,1'  its  beds  and  pots  and 
kettles,  and  start  afresh  from  its  ashes  like  John  Phrenix- 
Squibob! 

223 


The  Friendly  Craft 

No :  give  me  home,  or  a  home  like  mine,  where  all  is 
clean  and  sweet,  where  coffee  has  preexisted  in  the  berry, 
and  tea  has  still  faint  recollections  of  the  pigtails  that 
dangled  about  the  plant  from  which  it  was  picked,  where 
butter  has  not  the  prevailing  character  which  Pope  assigned 
to  Denham,  where  soup  could  look  you  in  the  face  if  it  had 
"eyes'1  (which  it  has  not),  and  where  the  comely  Anne 
or  the  gracious  Margaret  takes  the  place  of  those  napkin- 
bearing  animals. 

Enough !  But  I  have  been  forlorn  and  ailing  and  fastid 
ious —  but  I  am  feeling  a  little  better,  and  can  talk  about 
it.  I  had  some  ugly  nights,  I  tell  you ;  but  I  am  writing 
in  good  spirits,  as  you  see.  .  .  . 

P.S.  Made  a  pretty  good  dinner,  after  all ;  but  better  a 
hash  at  home  than  a  roast  with  strangers.  . 


Henry    D.    Thoreau  carries    Concord     ground    and 
thoughts  to  Staten  Island     ^>      ^>      ^>      ^* 

(To  Mrs.  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson) 
CASTLETON,  STATEN  ISLAND,  May  22,  1843 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  — I  believe  a  good  many  con 
versations  with  you  were  left  in  an  unfinished  state, 
and  now  indeed  I  don't  know  where  to  take  them  up. 
But  I  will  resume  some  of  the  unfinished  silence.  I  shall 
not  hesitate  to  know  you.  I  think  of  you  as  some  elder 
sister  of  mine,  whom  I  could  not  have  avoided, — a  sort 
of  lunar  influence,  —  only  of  such  age  as  the  moon,  whose 
time  is  measured  by  her  light.  You  must  know  that  you 
represent  to  me  woman,  for  I  have  not  traveled  very  far  or 
wide,  —  and  what  if  I  had?  I  like  to  deal  with  you,  for  I 
believe  you  do  not  lie  or  steal,  and  these  are  very  rare  vir 
tues.  I  thank  you  for  your  influence  for  two  years.  I  was 
224 


Keeping  Life  "On   Loft" 

fortunate  to  be  subjected  to  it,  and  am  now  to  remember 
it.  It  is  the  noblest  gift  we  can  make;  what  signify  all 
others  that  can  be  bestowed?  You  have  helped  to  keep 
my  life  "  on  loft,"  as  Chaucer  says  of  Griselda,  and  in  a 
better  sense.  You  always  seemed  to  look  down  at  me  as 
from  some  elevation,  —  some  of  your  high  humilities, — 
and  I  was  the  better  for  having  to  look  up.  I  felt  taxed 
not  to  disappoint  your  expectation ;  for  could  there  be  any 
accident  so  sad  as  to  be  respected  for  something  better 
than  we  are?  It  was  a  pleasure  even  to  go  away  from  you, 
as  it  is  not  to  meet  some,  as  it  apprised  me  of  my  high  re 
lations  ;  and  such  a  departure  is  a  sort  of  further  introduc 
tion  and  meeting.  Nothing  makes  the  earth  seem  so 
spacious  as  to  have  friends  at  a  distance ;  they  make  the 
latitudes  and  longitudes. 

You  must  not  think  that  fate  is  so  dark  there,  for  even 
here  I  can  see  a  faint  reflected  light  over  Concord,  and  I 
think  that  at  this  distance  I  can  better  weigh  the  value  of 
a  doubt  there.  Your  moonlight,  as  I  have  told  you,  though 
it  is  a  reflection  of  the  sun,  allows  of  bats  and  owls  and 
other  twilight  birds  to  flit  therein.  But  I  am  very  glad 
that  you  can  elevate  your  life  without  a  doubt,  for  I  am  sure 
that  it  is  nothing  but  an  insatiable  faith  after  all  that 
deepens  and  darkens  its  current.  And  your  doubt  and  my 
confidence  are  only  a  difference  of  expression. 

I  have  hardly  begun  to  live  on  Staten  Island  yet ;  but, 
like  the  man  who,  when  forbidden  to  tread  on  English 
ground,  carried  Scottish  ground  in  his  boots,  I  carry  Con 
cord  ground  in  my  boots  and  in  my  hat,  — and  am  I  not 
made  of  Concord  dust?  I  cannot  realize  that  it  is  the  roar 
of  the  sea  I  hear  now,  and  not  the  wind  in  Walden  woods. 
I  find  more  of  Concord,  after  all,  in  the  prospect  of  the 
seas,  beyond  Sandy  Hook,  than  in  the  fields  and  woods. 

If  you  were  to  have  this  Hugh  the  gardener  for  your 
Q  225 


The  Friendly  Craft 

man,  you  would  think  a  new  dispensation  had  commenced. 
He  might  put  a  fairer  aspect  on  the  natural  world  for  you, 
or  at  any  rate  a  screen  between  you  and  the  almshouse. 
There  is  a  beautiful  red  honeysuckle  now  in  blossom  in  the 
woods  here,  which  should  be  transplanted  to  Concord  ;  and 
if  what  they  tell  me  about  the  tulip  tree  be  true,  you  should 
have  that  also.  I  have  not  seen  Mrs.  Black  yet,  but  I  in 
tend  to  call  on  her  soon.  Have  you  established  those 
simpler  modes  of  living  yet?  —  "In  the  full  tide  of  suc 
cessful  operation  ? " 

Tell  Mrs.  Brown  that  I  hope  she  is  anchored  in  a  secure 
haven  and  derives  much  pleasure  still  from  reading  the 
poets,  and  that  her  constellation  is  not  quite  set  from  my 
sight,  though  it  is  sunk  so  low  in  that  northern  horizon. 
Tell  Elizabeth  Hoar  that  her  bright  present  did  "  carry  ink 
safely  to  Staten  Island,"  and  was  a  conspicuous  object  in 
Master  Havens  inventory  of  my  effects.  Give  my  respects 
to  Madam  Emerson,  whose  Concord  face  I  should  be  glad 
to  see  here  this  summer ;  and  remember  me  to  the  rest  of 
the  household  who  have  had  a  vision  of  me.  Shake  a  day- 
day  to  Edith,  and  say  good-night  to  Ellen  for  me.  Fare 
well. 

Francis  Parkman  objects  to  Western  manners          ^> 
CINCINNATI,  April  gt\\,  1846 

DEAR    MOTHER,—  .  .  .  To-day    I    reached    Cin 
cinnati,  after  a  two  days'  passage  down  the  Ohio. 
The  boat  was  good  enough  though  filled  with  a  swarm  of 
half-civilized  reprobates,  gambling,  swearing,  etc.,  among 
themselves.   .   .  .     The   great  annoyance  on  board  these 
boats  is  the  absurd  haste  of  everybody  to  gulp  down  their 
meals.     Ten  minutes    suffices  for  dinner,  and  it  requires 
great  skill  and  assiduity  to  secure  a  competent  allowance 
226 


A  Set  of  Beasts 

in  that  space  of  time.  As  I  don't  much  fancy  this  sort  of 
proceeding,  I  generally  manage  to  carry  off  from  the  table 
enough  to  alleviate  the  pangs  of  hunger  without  choking 
myself.  The  case  is  much  the  same  here  in  the  best  hotel 
in  Cincinnati.  When  you  sit  down,  you  must  begin  with 
out  delay  —  grab  whatever  is  within  your  reach,  and  keep 
hold  of  the  plate  by  main  force  till  you  have  helped  your 
self.  Eat  up  as  many  potatoes,  onions,  or  turnips  as  you 
can  lay  your  hands  on ;  and  take  your  meat  afterwards, 
whenever  you  have  a  chance  to  get  it.  It  is  only  by  econo 
mizing  time  in  this  fashion  that  you  can  avoid  starvation 
—  such  a  set  of  beasts  are  these  Western  men.  ...  I  am, 
dear  mother, 

Very  affectionately  yrs, 

F.  P. 

The  varied  experiences  of  an  Abolitionist  lecturer   ^> 
(From  Miss  Sallie  Holley) 

I 

SHALL  I  tell  you  what  anti-slavery  hospitality  is 
in  Pennsylvania?  It  is  to  be  ushered  into 
a  small,  close,  stove-heated  room,  where  seven  or  eight 
grown  up  persons  and  children  have  already  breathed  over 
the  air  two  or  three  times ;  introduced  to  a  tall,  unshaven, 
uncombed,  unwashed  man  with  terribly  dirty  clothes  and 
boots  thick  with  mud  and  manure ;  your  things  taken  off, 
you  are  presently  invited  out  into  a  dirty,  dingy  kitchen 
to  sit  down  to  highly-spiced  sausages,  or  a  dish  here 
denominated  "  scrapple,11  and  hot,  thick,  heavy  pancakes, 
picking  out  two  or  three  flies  from  your  drink  whatever  it 
may  be. 

And  though  you  have  been  lecturing  an  hour  and  a  half 
that  day,  besides    riding   through    rain    and    mud  several 
227 


The  Friendly  Craft 

miles,  you  are  expected  to  entertain  the  friends  with  how 
delighted  you  are  with  anti-slavery  in  Pennsylvania ;  how 
you  enjoy  travelling  about  and  seeing  their  beautiful  State  ; 
how  much  you  enjoy  their  warm-hearted  hospitality ;  how 
liberal  friends  are  in  this  region,  etc.,  etc.  An  hour  passes 
and  you  are  asked  to  ascend  to  a  cold,  uncomfortable,  half 
furnished  apartment.  There  you  lie  until  morning,  when 
again  you  go  through  the  charming  experience  of  the  even 
ing  before. 

Then  you  ride  eight  or  ten  miles  to  the  next  appoint 
ment.  All  along  the  road  you  are  told  that  Lancaster 
County  is  the  greatest  wheat-growing  county  in  the  world ; 
that  Chester  County  contains  more  woman's  rights  women 
than  any  other  in  the  world ;  that  my  style  of  lecturing 
being  so  "  moral  and  religious,"  not  exciting  anger  or 
resentment,  is  remarkably  adapted to  this  region.  .  .  . 


I 


II 
BYBERRY,  PA.,  November  26,  1852 

AM  now  staying  at  the  elegant  country  home  of 
Robert  Purvis.  It  may  be  called  "  Saints1  Rest," 
for  here  all  abolitionists  find  that  "  the  wicked  cease  from 
troubling  and  the  weary  are  at  rest."  The  house  and  ex 
tensive  grounds  are  in  tasteful  English  style. 

Mr.  Purvis  is  a  coloured  man,  but  so  light  that  no 
stranger  would  suspect  it.  His  wife  is  very  lady-like  in 
manners  and  conversation  ;  something  of  the  ease  and 
blandness  of  a  southern  lady.  The  style  of  living  here  is 
quite  uncommonly  rich  and  elegant.  Upon  my  arrival  I 
was  ushered  into  a  beautiful  room  where  there  was  a  fine 
wood  fire  blazing  most  delightfully  in  an  open  fire  place. 
It  was  so  charming  to  me  after  my  twenty  miles'  ride  through 
the  mud  and  cold. 


An   Excellent  Beginning 

What  a  pity  that  homely,  gloomy  stoves  should  be 
allowed  to  take-  the  place  of  open  fires  !  Why,  in  a  few 
generations  more  the  words  hearth  and  fireside  will  have 
no  meaning.  People  will  have  no  idea  what  they  signify. 
The  golden  age  of  open  fires  is  indeed  departing.  I  am 
writing  in  a  very  cheerful  "  upper  chamber/'  and  feel  re 
markably  amiable,  staying  in  such  a  beautiful  home.  As 
Mr.  Skimpole  said  of  his  lying  on  the  soft  grass  and  looking 
up  through  the  trees  to  the  blue  sky,  it  "  must  be  what  I 
was  made  for,  it  suits  me  so  exactly.'1  .  .  . 

Henry  D.  Thoreau  glories  in  the  stormy  hospitality  of 
Monadnock         *^x      -\>      ^>      ^>      ^ix      *^> 
CONCORD,  November  4,  1860 

MR.  BLAKE,—  .  .  .  We  made  an  excellent  begin 
ning  of  our  mountain  life.  You  may  remember  that 
the  Saturday  previous  was  a  stormy  day.  Well,  we  went 
up  in  the  rain,  —  wet  through,  —  and  found  ourselves  in  a 
cloud  there  at  mid-afternoon,  in  no  situation  to  look  about 
for  the  best  place  for  a  camp.  So  I  proceeded  at  once, 
through  the  cloud,  to  that  memorable  stone,  "chunk  yard," 
in  which  we  made  our  humble  camp  once,  and  there,  after 
putting  our  packs  under  a  rock,  having  a  good  hatchet,  I 
proceeded  to  build  a  substantial  house,  which  Channing 
declared  the  handsomest  he  ever  saw.  (He  never  camped 
out  before,  and  was,  no  doubt,  prejudiced  in  its  favor.) 
This  was  done  about  dark,  and  by  that  time  we  were  nearly 
as  wet  as  if  we  had  stood  in  a  hogshead  of  water.  We 
then  built  a  fire  before  the  door,  directly  on  the  site  of  our 
little  camp  of  two  years  ago,  and  it  took  a  long  time  to  burn 
through  its  remains  to  the  earth  beneath.  Standing  before 
this,  and  turning  round  slowly,  like  meat  that  is  roasting, 
we  were  as  dry,  if  not  drier,  than  ever,  after  a  few  hours, 
and  so  at  last  we  "turned  in." 
229 


The  Friendly  Craft 

This  was  a  great  deal  better  than  going  up  there  in  fair 
weather,  and  having  no  adventure  (not  knowing  how  to 
appreciate  either  fair  weather  or  foul)  but  dull,  common 
place  sleep  in  a  useless  house,  and  before  a  comparatively 
useless  fire,  —  such  as  we  get  every  night.  Of  course  we 
thanked  our  stars,  when  we  saw  them,  which  was  about 
midnight,  that  they  had  seemingly  withdrawn  for  a  season. 
We  had  the  mountain  all  to  ourselves  that  afternoon  and 
night.  There  was  nobody  going  up  that  day  to  engrave 
his  name  on  the  summit,  nor  to  gather  blueberries.  The 
genius  of  the  mountain  saw  us  starting  from  Concord,  and 
it  said,  There  come  two  of  our  folks.  Let  us  get  ready  for 
them.  Get  up  a  serious  storm,  that  will  send  a-packing  these 
holiday  guests.  (They  may  have  their  say  another  time.) 
Let  us  receive  them  with  true  mountain  hospitality,  —  kill 
the  fatted  cloud.  Let  them  know  the  value  of  a  spruce 
roof,  and  of  a  fire  of  dead  spruce  stumps.  Every  bush 
dripped  tears  of  joy  at  our  advent.  Fire  did  its  best,  and 
received  our  thanks.  What  could  fire  have  done  in  fair 
weather?  Spruce  roof  got  its  share  of  our  blessings.  And 
then,  such  a  view  of  the  wet  rocks,  with  the  wet  lichens  on 
them,  as  we  had  the  next  morning,  but  did  not  get  again  ! 

We  and  the  mountain  had  a  sound  season,  as  the  saying 
is.  How  glad  we  were  to  be  wet,  in  order  that  we  might 
be  dried  !  How. glad  we  were  of  the  storm  which  made 
our  house  seem  like  a  new  home  to  us  !  This  day's  experi 
ence  was  indeed  lucky,  for  we  did  not  have  a  thunder- 
shower  during  all  our  stay.  Perhaps  our  host  reserved 
this  attention  in  order  to  tempt  us  to  come  again. 

Our  next  house  was  more  substantial  still.  One  side 
was  rock,  good  for  durability ;  the  floor  the  same  ;  and 
the  roof  which  I  made  would  have  upheld  a  horse.  I  stood 
on  it  to  do  the  shingling. 

I  noticed,  when  I  was  at  the  White  Mountains  last, 
230 


Dancing  on    Monadnock 

several  nuisances  which  render  traveling  thereabouts  un 
pleasant.  The  chief  of  these  was  the  mountain  houses.  I 
might  have  supposed  that  the  main  attraction  of  that  re 
gion,  even  to  citizens,  lay  in  its  wildness  and  unlikeness  to 
the  city,  and  yet  they  make  it  as  much  like  the  city  as  they 
can  afford  to.  1  heard  that  the  Crawford  House  was 
lighted  with  gas,  and  had  a  large  saloon,  with  its  band  of 
music,  for  dancing.  But  give  me  a  spruce  house  made  in 
the  rain. 

An  old  Concord  farmer  tells  me  that  he  ascended  Mo 
nadnock  once,  and  danced  on  the  top.  How  did  that  hap 
pen  ?  Why,  he  being  up  there,  a  party  of  young  men  and 
women  came  up,  bringing  boards  and  a  fiddler;  and  hav 
ing  laid  down  the  boards,  they  made  a  level  floor,  on  which 
they  danced  to  the  music  of  the  fiddle.  I  suppose  the 
tune  was  "Excelsior."  This  reminds  me  of  a  fellow  who 
climbed  to  the  top  of  a  very  high  spire,  stood  upright  on  the 
ball,  and  hurrahed  for  —  what?  Why,  for  Harrison  and 
Tyler.  That's  the  kind  of  sound  which  most  ambitious 
people  emit  when  they  culminate.  They  are  wont  to  be 
singularly  frivolous  in  the  thin  atmosphere  ;  they  can't  con 
tain  themselves,  though  our  comfort  and  their  safety  re 
quire  it ;  it  takes  the  pressure  of  many  atmospheres  to  do 
this  ;  and  hence  they  helplessly  evaporate  there.  It  would 
seem  that  as  they  ascend,  they  breathe  shorter  and  shorter, 
and,  at  each  expiration,  some  of  their  wits  leave  them,  till, 
when  they  reach  the  pinnacle,  they  are  so  light-headed  as 
to  be  fit  only  to  show  how  the  wind  sits.  I  suspect  that 
Emerson's  criticism  called  "  Monadnock "  was  inspired, 
not  by  remembering  the  inhabitants  of  New  Hampshire 
as  they  are  in  the  valleys,  so  much  as  by  meeting  some  of 
them  on  the  mountain-top. 

After  several  nights1  experience,  Channing  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  he  was  "lying  outdoors,"  and  inquired 
231 


The  Friendly  Craft 

what  was  the  largest  beast  that  might  nibble  his  legs  there. 
I  fear  that  he  did  not  improve  all  the  night,  as  he  might 
have  done,  to  sleep.  I  had  asked  him  to  go  and  spend  a 
week  there.  We  spent  five  nights,  being  gone  six  days, 
for  C.  suggested  that  six  working  days  made  a  week,  and 
I  saw  that  he  was  ready  to  decamp.  However,  he  found 
his  account  in  it  as  well  as  I.  ... 

Yes,  to  meet  men  on  an  honest  and  simple  footing,  meet 
with  rebuffs,  suffer  from  sore  feet,  as  you  did,  —  ay,  and 
from  a  sore  heart,  as  perhaps  you  also  did,  —  all  that  is 
excellent.  What  a  pity  that  that  young  prince  1  could  not 
enjoy  a  little  of  the  legitimate  experience  of  traveling  —  be 
dealt  with  simply  and  truly,  though  rudely.  He  might 
have  been  invited  to  some  hospitable  house  in  the  country, 
had  his  bowl  of  bread  and  milk  set  before  him,  with  a  clean 
pinafore  ;  been  told  that  there  were  the  punt  and  the  fish 
ing-rod,  and  he  could  amuse  himself  as  he  chose  ;  might 
have  swung  a  few  birches,  dug  out  a  woodchuck,  and  had 
a  regular  good  time,  and  finally  been  sent  to  bed  with  the 
boys,  —  and  so  never  have  been  introduced  to  Mr.  Everett 
at  all.  I  have  no  doubt  that  this  would  have  been  a  far 
more  memorable  and  valuable  experience  than  he  got. 

The  snow-clad  summit  of  Mt.  Washington  must  have 
been  a  very  interesting  sight  from  Wachuset.  How  whole 
some  winter  is.  seen  far  or  near ;  how  good,  above  all  mere 
sentimental,  warm-blooded,  short-lived,  soft-hearted,  moral 
goodness,  commonly  so  called.  Give  me  the  goodness 
which  has  forgotten  its  own  deeds,  —  which  God  has  seen 
to  be  good,  and  let  be.  None  of  your  just  made  perfect,  — 
pickled  eels  !  All  that  will  save  them  will  be  their  pictur- 
esqueness,  as  with  blasted  trees.  Whatever  is,  and  is  not 
ashamed  to  be,  is  good.  I  value  no  moral  goodness  or 

1  The  Prince  of  Wales,  now  King  Edward  VII,  then  traveling  in 
the  United  States. 

232 


Everything  Goes   Lazy 

greatness  unless  it  is  good  or  great,  even  as  that  snowy 
peak  is.  Pray,  how  could  thirty  feet  of  bowels  improve  it  ? 
Nature  is  goodness  crystallized.  You  look  into  the  land, 
of  promise.  Whatever  beauty  we  behold,  the  more  it  is 
distant,  serene,  and  cold,  the  purer  and  more  durable  it  is. 
It  is  better  to  warm  ourselves  with  ice  than  with  fire.  .  .  . 

Theodore  Parker,  fresh  from  Boston,  finds  Santa  Cruz 

Slow      -^y      ^v      "v>      ^v>      ^>      ^>      <^      ^>      ^^ 

(To  Mrs.  Apthorp) 
WEST-END,  FREDERIKSTAD,  March,  1859 

(Written  with  a  pencil  out  of  doors) 

"In  the  afternoon  they  came  unto  a  land 

In  which  it  seemed  always  afternoon." 

WELL,  we  have  got  there,  this  is  the  place.  With 
nature  it  seems  a  perpetual  Midsummer's  Day,  but 
with  man  it  is  "always  afternoon."  I  should  think  the  island 
was  peopled  by  lotos-eaters.  Everything  goes  lazy.  In  the 
morning  there  is  a  string  of  women  who  go  to  the  spring 
for  water,  each  with  a  little  pipkin,  or  pitcher,  or  jug,  or 
carafe  on  her  head.  In  six  months,  time  enough  is  spent 
to  make  an  acqueduct  with  a  reservoir  which  would  supply 
the  whole  town  with  water.  The  boys  do  not  run  even 
down-hill,  nor  the  girls  romp.  To  play  hoop,  jump  rope, 
bat  and  ball,  would  be  a  torture  to  these  dullards.  The 
only  game  I  have  seen  among  the  children  is  top ;  all  the 
little  negroes  have  a  top,  and  spin  it  on  the  hard,  smooth 
street.  The  cows  don't  run  to  pasture,  or  from  it  ;  even 
the  calves  are  as  sedate  as  the  heaviest  oxen,  and  walk 
decorously  up  to  their  milky  supper,  and  pull  as  leisurely 
as  if  they  worked  by  the  day  (to  pay  an  old  debt),  not  by* 
the  job  (and  incurring  a  new  one).  The  ducks  lie  in  the 
233 


The  Friendly  Craft 

street  all  day  where  they  can  find  a  shade,  and  only  quack 
and  gabble  at  night  when  the  effort  is  not  too  heating. 
Mr.  Cockadoodle  does  not  run  after  the  hens  ;  he  only 
walks  as  deliberately  as  a  Dutchman,  and  it  seems  as  if  he 
ought  also  to  have  a  pipe  in  his  mouth.  The  winds  blow 
in  a  gentle  sort,  and  make  no  dust,  though  it  has  not 
rained  enough  to  wet  a  blanket  through  this  never  so  long. 
There  is  a  brook  outside  the  little  village,  but  it  never  runs, 
it  has  no  current.  There  are  no  tides  in  the  sea,  only  a 
little  slopping  against  the  coral  rock.  .  .  . 

We  live  with  a  Mrs. ,  a   widow  of  65    years    old. 

She  condescends  to  take  boarders  at  10  dollars  a-week, 
and  takes  the  greatest  pains  to  feed  them  well.  She 
belongs  to  the  tip-top  aristocracy  of  the  island,  and  her 
house  is  the  West-Endest  promontory  of  the  West-End  of 
Santa  Cruz.  Why,  her  husband  was  Herr-Master-Collec- 
tor-General  of  the  Post,  when  at  least  25  ships  arrived  in 
a  year,  and  he  had  an  income  of  20,000  dollars  a-year  (she 
says),  and  her  house  cost  45,000  dollars  (so  she  says).  I 
take  off  a  cypher  from  each  sum,  and  bring  it  down  a  little 
by  this  reduction  descending.  They  used  to  live  in  Saus 
imd  Braus  in  his  time,  that  they  did.  What  puncheons 
of  rum,  what  pipes  of  wine  and  brandy  did  they  not  have, 
and  what  fun,  and  frolic,  and  feasting,  and  dancing,  and 
making  love,  and  marrying  and  giving  in  marriage.  But 
alas  !  "  vergangen  ist  vergangen,  verloren  ist  verloren" 
The  house  and  all  looks  now,  like  the  state  of  things  a  day 
or  two  after  Noe  entered  the  ark,  only  the  ruin  is  not  by 
water.  All  the  buildings  are  tumbling  down,  the  garden 
is  never  hoed  or  dug,  the  fences  have  fallen,  the  gates  with 
out  hinges,  the  doors  lack  handles,  and  the  once  costly 
furniture  has  been  battered,  and  neglected,  and  maltreated, 

till  you  mourn  over  it  all.  .   .   .    Mrs. talks  all  the  time 

about  herself  and  her  former  grandeur,  till  she  sounds  as 
234 


i.   Negroes.      2.   Pigs 

empty  as  the  Heidelberg  tun.  In  the  next  life  I  trust  we 
shall  be  able  to  hold  our  ears  as  well  as  our  tongues.  I 
wish  I  could  now. 

The  town  belongs  to  the  negroes  and  the  pigs.  A 
word  of  each.  i.  Of  the  negroes.  In  the  street  you  see 
nobody  but  negroes  and  colored  people  —  fine  straight 
backs.  All  the  women  are  slender.  You  may  walk  half 
an  hour  and  not  see  a  white  man.  One  of  these  days  I 
will  write  a  word  upon  the  moral  condition  of  the  Africans 
here,  and  their  possible  future.  It  is  full  of  hope.  But 
the  negro  is  slow  — a  loose-jointed  sort  of  animal,  a  great 
child.  2.  The  pig.  There  are  lots  of  pigs  in  the  streets. 
Pigs  male  and  pigs  female,  pigs  young  and  pigs  old. 
Most  of  them  are  coal-black,  and,  like  Zaccheus,  ";  little 
of  stature."  They  are  long-nosed  and  grave -looking  ani 
mals.  I  should  think  they  had  been  through  a  revival, 
and  were  preparing  for  the  ministry  ;  a  whole  Andover, 
Newton,  and  Princeton  turned  into  the  streets.  But  they 
are  slow,  as  are  all  things  here.  They  do  not  keep  their 
tails  flying,  like  the  porkers  of  New  England.  A  woman, 
not  far  off,  comes  out  into  the  street  and  now  and  then 
calls,  "  Pik,  pik  !  sough,  sough  ! "  (i.e.  suff,  suff,)  and  her 
particular  pig  recognizes  the  voice  and  grunts  gently,  but 
approvingly,  and  walks  home  to  his  dinner,  like  an  Eng 
lish  country  gentleman,  and  not  as  American  members  of 
Congress  go  to  their  meals.  .  .  .  Good  bye,  dear  friend 
that  you  are. 

T. 


235 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Charles  Simmer  rides  with  the  fox-hunting  gentry  and 
clergy  of  merrie  England      ^>      -^y      -<^x      ^y 

(To  George  S.  Hillard) 

MILTON  PARK,  Dec.  25,  1838 

A  MERRY  CHRISTMAS  to  you,  dear  Hillard!  This 
morning  greeting  I  send  with  the  winter  winds  across 
the  Atlantic.  It  will  not  reach  you  till  long  after  this  day ; 
but  I  hope  that  it  will  find  you  happy,  —  not  forgetful  of 
your  great  loss,  but  remembering  it  with  manly  grief,  and 
endeavoring  in  the  undoubted  present  bliss  of  your  dear 
boy  to  catch  a  reflected  ray  for  yourself.  I  am  passing 
my  Christmas  week  with  Lord  Fitzwilliam,  in  one  of  the 
large  country-houses  of  old  England.  I  have  already 
written  you  about  Wentworth  House.  The  place  where 
I  now  am  is  older  and  smaller;  in  America,  however,  it 
would  be  vast.  The  house  is  Elizabethan.  Here  I  have 
been  enjoying  fox-hunting,  to  the  imminent  danger  of  my 
limbs  and  neck;  that  they  still  remain  intact  is  a  miracle. 
His  Lordship's  hounds  are  among  the  finest  in  the  king 
dom,  and  his  huntsman  is  reputed  the  best.  There  are 
about  eighty  couples ;  the  expense  of  keeping  them  is 
about  five  thousand  pounds  a  year.  In  his  stables  there 
are  some  fifty  or  sixty  hunters  that  are  only  used  with  the 
hounds,  and  of  course  are  unemployed  during  the  summer. 
The  exertion  of  a  day's  sport  is  so  great  that  a  horse  does 
not  go  out  more  than  once  in  a  week.  I  think  I  have 
never  participated  in  anything  more  exciting  than  this 
exercise.  The  history  of  my  exploits  will  confirm  this. 
The  morning  after  my  arrival  I  mounted,  at  half-past  nine 
o'clock,  a  beautiful  hunter,  and  rode  with  Lord  Milton 
about  six  miles  to  the  place  of  meeting.  There  were  the 
hounds  and  huntsmen  and  whippers-in,  and  about  eighty 
236 


Such  a  Scamper 

horsemen, — the  noblemen  and  gentry  and  clergy  of  the 
neighborhood,  all  beautifully  mounted,  and  the  greater 
part  in  red  coats,  leather  breeches,  and  white  top-boots. 
The  hounds  were  sent  into  the  cover,  and  it  was  a  grand 
sight  to  see  so  many  handsome  dogs,  all  of  a  size,  and  all 
washed  before  coming  out,  rushing  into  the  underwood  to 
start  the  fox.  We  were  unfortunate  in  not  getting  a  scent 
immediately,  and  rode  from  cover  to  cover;  but  soon  the 
cry  was  raised  "  Tally-ho!"  —  the  horn  was  blown  —  the 
dogs  barked  —  the  horsemen  rallied — the  hounds  scented 
their  way  through  the  cover  on  the  trail  of  the  fox,  and 
then  started  in  full  run.  I  had  originally  intended  only  to 
ride  to  cover  to  see  them  throw  off,  and  then  make  my 
way  home,  believing  myself  unequal  to  the  probable  run ; 
but  the  chase  commenced,  and  I  was  in  the  midst  of  it ; 
and,  being  excellently  mounted,  nearly  at  the  head  of  it. 
Never  did  I  see  such  a  scamper;  and  never  did  it  enter 
into  my  head  that  horses  could  be  pushed  to  such  speed 
in  such  places.  We  dashed  through  and  over  bushes, 
leaping  broad  ditches,  splashing  in  brooks  and  mud,  and 
passing  over  fences  as  so  many  imaginary  lines.  My  first 
fence  I  shall  not  readily  forget.  I  was  near  Lord  Milton, 
who  was  mounted  on  a  thoroughbred  horse.  He  cleared 
a  fence  before  him.  My  horse  pawed  the  ground  and 
neighed.  I  gave  him  the  rein,  and  he  cleared  the  fence : 
as  I  was  up  in  the  air  for  one  moment,  how  was  I  startled 
to  look  down  and  see  that  there  was  not  only  a  fence  but 
a  ditch!  He  cleared  the  ditch  too.  I  have  said  it  was  my 
first  experiment.  I  lost  my  balance,  was  thrown  to  the 
very  ears  of  the  horse,  but  in  some  way  or  other  contrived 
to  work  myself  back  to  the  saddle  without  touching  the 
ground  (vide  some  of  the  hunting  pictures  of  leaps,  &c.). 
How  I  got  back  I  cannot  tell ;  but  I  did  regain  my  seat, 
and  my  horse  was  at  a  run  in  a  moment.  All  this,  you 
237 


The  Friendly  Craft 

will  understand,  passed  in  less  time  by  far  than  it  will  take 
to  read  this  account.  One  moment  we  were  in  a  scamper 
through  a  ploughed  field,  another  over  a  beautiful  pasture, 
and  another  winding  through  the  devious  paths  of  a  wood. 
I  think  I  may  say  that  in  no  single  day  of  my  life  did  I 
ever  take  so  much  exercise.  I  have  said  that  I  mounted 
at  nine  and  a  half  o'clock.  It  wanted  twenty  minutes  of 
five  when  I  finally  dismounted,  not  having  been  out  of  the 
saddle  more  than  thirty  seconds  during  all  this  time,  and 
then  only  to  change  my  horse,  taking  a  fresh  one  from  a 
groom  who  was  in  attendance.  During  much  of  this  time 
we  were  on  a  full  run. 

The  next  day  had  its  incidents.  The  place  of  meeting 
for  the  hounds  was  about  fourteen  miles  from  the  house. 
Our  horses  were  previously  led  thither  by  grooms,  and  we 
rode  there  in  a  carriage  and  four,  with  outriders,  and  took 
our  horses  fresh.  This  day  I  met  with  a  fall.  The  country 
was  very  rough,  and  the  fences  often  quite  stiff  and  high. 
I  rode  among  the  foremost,  and  in  going  over  a  fence  and 
brook  together,  came  to  the  ground.  My  horse  cleared 
them  both ;  and  I  cleared  him,  for  I  went  directly  over  his 
head.  Of  course  he  started  off,  but  was  soon  caught  by 
Milton  and  a  parson,  who  had  already  made  the  leap  suc 
cessfully.  I  should  not  fail  to  commemorate  the  feats  of 
the  clergymen,  as  they  illustrate  the  position  of  this  body 
in  England.  The  best  and  hardest  rider  in  this  part  of 
the  country  is  reputed  to  be  a  clergyman ;  and  there  was 
not  a  day  that  I  was  out  that  I  did  not  see  three  or  four 
persons  rejoicing  in  the  style  of  "  Reverend,"  and  distin 
guishable  from  the  rest  of  the  habitues  by  wearing  a  black 
instead  of  a  red  coat.  They  were  among  the  foremost  in 
every  field,  and  cleared  fences  with  great  ease.  Once  we 
came  to  a  very  stiff  rail  fence  ;  and,  as  the  hounds  were  not 
in  full  cry,  there  was  a  general  stop  to  see  how  the  different 
238 


"  Hurrah  for  Nash  !  " 

horses  and  riders  would  take  it.  Many  were  afraid,  and 
several  horses  refused  it.  Soon,  however,  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Nash,  a  clergyman  of  some  fifty  years,  came  across  the 
field ;  and  the  cry  was  raised,  "  Hurrah  for  Nash !  Now 
for  Nash!"  I  need  not  say  that  he  went  over  it  easily. 
It  was  the  Rev.  Mr.  Nash  who  caught  my  horse.  Change 
the  scene  one  moment,  and  imagine  Mr.  Greenwood  or 
Dr.  Lyman  Beecher  riding  at  a  rail  fence,  and  some  thirty 
or  forty  persons  looking  on  and  shouting,  "  Hurrah  for 
Greenwood!  Hurrah  for  Beecher!"  None  of  the  clergy 
men  who  were  out  were  young  men ;  they  were  all  more 
than  forty-five,  if  not  fifty.  They  mingled  in  all  the  light 
conversation  of  the  field,  —  one  of  them  told  a  story  which 
I  would  not  venture  to  trust  to  this  sheet,  —  and  they 
were  addressed  by  all  with  the  utmost  familiarity.  I  did 
not  hear  one  of  them  addressed  by  the  title  of  "Mr.," 
except  by  myself,  though  most  of  the  company  were  fifteen 
or  twenty  years  younger  than  themselves.  These  little 
things  will  reveal  to  you  more  than  several  pages  of  dis 
sertation.  Every  day  that  I  was  out  it  rained,  —  the 
first  day  incessantly,  —  and  yet  I  was  perfectly  unconscious 
of  it,  so  interested  did  I  become  in  the  sport.  Indeed, 
sportsmen  rather  wish  a  rain,  because  it  makes  the  ground 
soft.  We  generally  got  home  about  five  o'clock ;  and  I 
will  give  you  the  history  of  the  rest  of  the  day,  that  you 
may  see  how  time  passes  in  one  of  the  largest  houses  in 
England.  Dinner  was  early,  because  the  sportsmen  re 
turned  fatigued,  and  without  having  tasted  a  morsel  of 
food  since  an  early  breakfast.  So,  after  our  return,  we 
only  had  time  to  dress  ;  and  at  five  and  a  half  o'clock 
assembled  in  the  library,  from  which  we  went  in  to  dinner. 
For  three  days  I  was  the  only  guest  here,  —  during  the 
last  four  we  have  had  Professor  Whewell,  —  so  that  I  can 
describe  to  you  what  was  simply  the  family  establishment. 
239 


The  Friendly  Craft 

One  day  I  observed  that  there  were  only  nine  of  us  at 
table,  and  there  were  thirteen  servants  in  attendance.  Of 
course  the  service  is  entirely  of  silver.  You  have,  in  proper 
succession,  soup,  fish,  venison,  and  the  large  English 
dishes,  besides  a  profusion  of  French  entrees,  with  ice-cream 
and  an  ample  dessert,  —  Madeira,  Sherry,  Claret,  Port, 
and  Champagne.  We  do  not  sit  long  at  table  ;  but  return 
to  the  library,  —  which  opens  into  two  or  three  drawing- 
rooms,  and  is  itself  used  as  the  principal  one,  —  where  we 
find  the  ladies  already  at  their  embroidery,  and  also  coffee. 
Conversation  goes  languidly.  The  boys  are  sleepy,  and 
Lord  Fitzvvilliam  is  serious  and  melancholy;  and  very 
soon  I  am  glad  to  kill  off  an  hour  or  so  by  a  game  of  cards. 
Sometimes  his  Lordship  plays  ;  at  other  times  he  slowly 
peruses  the  last  volume  of  Prescott's  "Ferdinand  and 
Isabella.1'  About  eleven  o'clock  I  am  glad  to  retire  to 
my  chamber,  which  is  a  very  large  apartment,  with  two 
large  oriel  windows  looking  out  upon  the  lawn  where  the 
deer  are  feeding.  There  I  find  a  glowing  fire;  and  in 
one  of  the  various  easy  chairs  sit  and  muse  while  the  fire 
burns,  or  resort  to  the  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  which  are 
carefully  placed  on  the  table  near  me. 

I  have  given  you  an  off-hand  sketch  of  English  fox-hunt 
ing.  I  was  excited  and  interested  by  it,  I  confess ;  I 
should  like  to  enjoy  it  more,  and  have  pressing  invitations 
to  continue  my  visit  or  renew  it  at  some  future  period. 
But  I  have  moralized  much  upon  it,  and  have  been  made 
melancholy  by  seeing  the  time  and  money  that  are  lavished 
on  this  sport,  and  observing  the  utter  unproductiveness 
of  the  lives  of  those  who  are  most  earnestly  engaged  in  it, 
—  like  my  Lord's  family,  whose  mornings  are  devoted  to 
it,  and  whose  evenings  are  rounded  by  a  sleep.  .  .  . 


240 


A  Figure   Indeed 

William  H.  Prescott  tells  his  wife  all  about  the  Queen 

I 
[LONDON,]  Thursday,  6  P.M.  \June,  1850] 

WELL,  the  presentation  has  come  off,  and  I  will 
give  you  some  account  of  it  before  going  to 
dine  with  Lord  Fitzwilliam.  This  morning  I  breakfasted 
with  Mr.  Monckton  Milnes,  where  I  met  Macaulay,  —  the 
third  time  this  week.  We  had  also  Lord  Lyttleton,  —  an 
excellent  scholar,  —  Gladstone,  and  Lord  St.  Germans,  —  a 
sensible  and  agreeable  person,  —  and  two  or  three  others. 
We  had  a  lively  talk ;  but  I  left  early  for  the  Court  affair. 
I  was  at  Lawrence's  at  one,  in  my  costume :  a  chapeau 
with  gold  lace,  blue  coat,  and  white  trousers,  begilded 
with  buttons  and  metal,  —  the  coat  buttons  up,  single- 
breasted,  to  the  throat,  —  a  sword,  and  patent-leather 
boots.  I  was  a  figure,  indeed  !  But  I  had  enough  to  keep 
me  in  countenance.  I  spent  an  hour  yesterday  with  Lady 
M.,  getting  instructions  for  demeaning  myself.  The  great 
est  danger  was,  that  I  should  be  tripped  up  by  my  own 
sword.  On  reaching  St.  James's  Palace  we  passed  up 
stairs  through  files  of  the  guard,  —  beef-eaters,  —  and  were 
shown  into  a  large  saloon,  not  larger  than  the  great  room 
of  the  White  House,  but  richly  hung  with  crimson  silk, 
and  some  fine  portraits  of  the  family  of  George  the  Third. 
It  was  amusing,  as  we  waited  there  an  hour,  to  see  the 
arrival  of  the  different  persons,  diplomatic,  military,  and 
courtiers.  All,  men  and  women,  blazing  in  all  their  stock 
of  princely  finery ;  and  such  a  power  of  diamonds,  pearls, 
emeralds,  and  laces,  the  trains  of  the  ladies1  dresses  several 
yards  in  length!  Some  of  the  ladies  wore  coronets  of  dia 
monds  that  covered  the  greater  part  of  the  head,  others 
necklaces  of  diamonds  and  emeralds,  that  were  a  size  per- 
R  241 


The  Friendly  Craft 

fectly   enormous.     I    counted   on    Lady  's    head   two 

strings  of  diamonds,  rising  gradually  from  the  size  of  a 
four  pence  to  the  size  of  an  English  shilling,  and  thick  in 
proportion.  Lady had  emeralds  mingled  with  her  dia 
monds,  of  the  finest  lustre,  as  large  as  pigeon's  eggs.  The 
Parure  was  not  always  in  the  best  taste.  The  Duchess 
of. 's  dress  was  studded  with  diamonds  along  the  bor 
der  and  down  the  middle  of  the  robe,  —  each  of  the  size 
of  half  a  nutmeg.  The  young  ladies,  a  great  many  of 
whom  were  presented,  were  dressed  generally  without 
ornament.  I  tell  all  this  for  Lizzie's  especial  benefit.  The 
company  \vere  at  length  permitted  one  by  one  to  pass  into 
the  presence-chamber,  —  a  room  of  about  the  same  size  as 
the  other,  with  a  throne  and  gorgeous  canopy  at  the  farther 
end.  before  which  stood  the  little  Queen  of  the  mighty  Isle, 
and  her  consort,  surrounded  by  her  ladies  in  waiting.  She 
was  rather  simply  dressed,  but  he  was  in  a  Field-Marshal's 
uniform,  and  covered,  I  should  think,  with  all  the  orders 
of  Europe.  He  is  a  good-looking  person,  but  by  no  means 
so  good-looking  as  the  portraits  of  him.  The  Queen  is 
better  looking  than  you  might  expect.  I  was  presented 
by  our  Minister,  according  to  the  directions  of  the  Cham 
berlain,  as  the  historian  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  in  due 
form,  —  and  made  my  profound  obeisance  to  her  Majesty, 
who  made  a  very  dignified  courtesy,  as  she  made  to  some 
two  hundred  others,  who  were  presented  in  like  manner. 
Owing  to  there  having  been  no  drawing-room  for  a  long 
time,  there  was  an  unusual  number  of  presentations  of 
young  ladies  ;  but  very  few  gentlemen  were  presented.  I 
made  the  same  low  bow  to  his  Princeship,  to  whom  I  was 
also  presented,  and  so  bowed  myself  out  of  the  royal  circle, 
without  my  sword  tripping  up  the  heels  of  my  nobility.  As 
I  was  drawing  off,  Lord  Carlisle,  who  was  standing  on  the 
edge  of  the  royal  circle,  called  me,  and  kept  me  by  his  side, 
242 


Without   Embarrassment 

telling  me  the  names  of  the  different  lords  and  ladies,  who, 
after  paying  their  obeisance  to  the  Queen,  passed  out 
before  us.  He  said,  he  had  come  to  the  drawing-room 
to  see  how  I  got  through  the  affair,  which  he  thought  I 
did  without  any  embarrassment.  Indeed,  to  say  truth,  I 
have  been  more  embarrassed  a  hundred  times  in  my  life 
than  I  was  here,  I  don't  know  why ;  I  suppose,  because  I 
am  getting  old.  .  .  . 

Your  loving  husband, 

WM.  H.  PRESCOTT 

II 

CASTLE  HOWARD,  Aiigust  [28th,]  1850 

DEAR  WIFE, 
...  I  have  a  little  time  to  write  before  luncheon, 
and  must  send  off  the  letter  then  to  London  to  be  copied. 
Received  yours  this  morning,  complaining  I  had  not 
written  by  the  last.  You  have  got  the  explanation  of  it 
since.  To  resume.  The  Queen,  &c.,  arrived  yesterday  in 
a  pelting  rain,  with  an  escort  of  cavalry,  —  a  pretty  sight 
to  those  under  cover.  Crowds  of  loyal  subjects  were  in 
the  park  in  front  of  the  house  to  greet  her.  They  must 
have  come  miles  in  the  rain.  She  came  into  the  hall  in  a 
plain  travelling-dress,  bowing  very  gracefully  to  all  there, 
and  then  to  her  apartments,  which  occupy  the  front  of  the 
building.  At  eight  we  went  to  dinner,  all  in  full  dress,  but 
mourning  for  the  Duke  of  Cambridge  ;  I,  of  course,  for 
President  Taylor  !  All  wore  breeches  or  tight  pantaloons. 
It  was  a  brilliant  show,  I  assure  you,  — that  immense  table, 
with  its  fruits  and  flowers,  and  lights  glancing  over  beauti 
ful  plate,  and  in  that  superb  gallery.  I  was  as  near  the 
Queen  as  at  our  own  family  table.  She  has  a  good  appe 
tite,  and  laughs  merrily.  She  has  fine  eyes  and  teeth,  but 
243 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Is  short.  She  was  dressed  in  black  siik  and  lace,  with  the 
blue  scarf  of  the  Order  of  the  Garter  across  her  bosom. 
Her  only  ornaments  were  of  jet.  The  Prince,  who  is  cer 
tainly  a  handsome  and  very  well-made  man,  wore  the 
Garter  with  its  brilliant  buckle  round  his  knee,  a  showy 
star  on  his  breast,  and  the  collar  of  a  foreign  order  round 
his  neck.  Dinner  went  off  very  well,  except  that  we  had 
no  music  ;  a  tribute  to  Louis-Philippe  at  the  Queen's  re 
quest, —  too  bad  !  We  drank  the  royal  healths  with  pro 
digious  enthusiasm. 

After  the  ladies  retired,  the  Prince  and  the  other  gentle 
men  remained  half  an  hour,  as  usual.  In  the  evening  we 
listened  to  some  fine  music,  and  the  Queen  examined  the 
pictures.  Odd  enough  the  etiquette.  Lady  Carlisle,  who 
did  the  honors  like  a  high-bred  lady  as  she  is,  and  the 
Duchess  of  Sutherland,  were  the  only  ladies  who  talked 
with  her  Majesty.  Lord  Carlisle,  her  host,  was  the  only 
gentleman  who  did  so,  unless  she  addressed  a  person  her 
self.  No  one  can  sit  a  moment  when  she  chooses  to 
stand.  She  did  me  the  honor  to  come  and  talk  with  me, 
—  asking  me  about  my  coming  here,  my  stay  in  the  Castle, 
what  I  was  doing  now  in  the  historic  way,  how  Everett 
was,  and  where  he  was, — for  ten  minutes  or  so;  and 
Prince  Albert  afterwards  a  long  while,  talking  about  the 
houses  and  ruins  in  England,  and  the  churches  in  Belgium, 
and  the  pictures  in  the  room,  and  I  don't  know  what.  I 
found  myself  now  and  then  trenching  on  the  rules  by  inter 
rupting,  &c. ;  but  I  contrived  to  make  it  up  by  a  respectful 
"  Your  Royal  Highness,"  "  Your  Majesty,"  &c.  I  told  the 
Queen  of  the  pleasure  I  had  in  finding  myself  in  a  land 
of  friends  instead  of  foreigners,  —  a  sort  of  stereotype  with 
me,  —  and  of  my  particular  good  fortune  in  being  under 
the  roof  with  her.  She  is  certainly  very  much  of  a  lady  in 
her  manner,  with  a  sweet  voice. 
244 


The   Bishop  of  Oxford 

The  house  is  filled  with  officials,  domestics,  &c.  Over 
two  hundred  slept  here  last  night.  The  grounds  all  round 
the  house,  as  I  write,  are  thronged  with  thousands  of  men 
and  women,  dressed  in  their  best,  from  the  adjacent  parts 
of  the  country.  You  cannot  stir  out  without  seeing  a  line 
of  heads  through  the  iron  railing  or  before  the  court-yard. 
I  was  walking  in  the  garden  this  morning  (did  I  tell  you 
that  it  is  a  glorious  day,  luckily?)  with  the  Marchioness 
of  Douro,  who  was  dressed  in  full  mourning  as  a  lady  in 
waiting,  when  the  crowd  set  up  such  a  shout!  as  they 
took  her  for  the  Queen.  But  I  must  close.  God  bless 
you,  dear ! 

WILLIAM  H.  PRESCOTT 

William  H.  Prescott  wears  red  robes  at  Oxford        <^ 
(To  George  Ticknor) 

LONDON,  June  26,  1850 

MY  DEAR  GEORGE, 
...  I  returned  day  before  yesterday  from  a  visit 
to  the  Bishop  of  Oxford,  Wilberforce,  you  know ;  one 
of  the  best-bred  men,  and  most  pleasing  in  conversation, 
that  I  have  met  with.  However  canny  he  may  be  in 
his  church  politics,  he  is  certainly  amiable,  for  uniform 
good-breeding  implies  a  sacrifice  of  self  that  is  founded  on 
benevolence.  There  was  some  agreeable  company  at  the 
house,  among  them  a  lady,  very  well  read,  the  daughter 
of  a  Bishop,  who  told  me  she  had  never  heard  the  name 
of  Dr.  Channing!  I  gave  her  a  great  shock  by  telling 
her  I  was  a  Unitarian.  The  term  is  absolutely  synony 
mous,  in  a  large  party  here,  with  Infidel,  Jew,  Moham 
medan  ;  worse  even,  because  regarded  as  a  wolf  in  sheep's 
clothing. 

On  Monday  morning  our  party  at  the  Bishop^s  went  to 
245 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Oxford,  where  Lord  Northampton  and  I  were  Doctorized 
in  due  form.  We  were  both  dressed  in  flaming  red  robes 
(it  was  the  hottest  day  I  have  felt  here)  and  then  marched 
out  in  solemn  procession  with  the  faculty,  &c.,  in  their 
black  and  red  gowns,  through  the  public  street,  looking, 
that  is,  we,  like  the  victims  of  an  auto  de  fe ;  though,  I 
believe,  on  second  thoughts,  the  san  benito  was  yellow. 
The  house  was  well  filled  by  both  men  and  women.  The 
Archaeological  Society  is  holding  its  meetings  there.  We 
were  marched  up  the  aisle ;  Professor  Phillimore  made 
a  long  Latin  exposition  of  our  merits,  in  which  each  of  the 
adjectives  ended,  as  Southey  said  in  reference  to  himself 
on  a  like  occasion,  in  issimus ;  and  amidst  the  cheers  of 
the  audience  we  were  converted  into  Doctors.  We  lunched 
with  the  Vice-Chancellor,  who  told  me  I  should  have  had 
a  degree  on  Commemoration-day,  the  regular  day ;  but  he 
wrote  about  me  to  the  Dean  of  St.  Paul's,  who  was  absent 
from  town,  and  so  an  answer  was  not  received  until  too 
late.  He  did  not  tell  me  that  the  principal  object  of  the 
letter  was  to  learn  my  faith,  having  some  misgivings  as  to 

my  heresy.     M wrote  him  word  that  he  thought  my 

books  would  be  found  to  be  vouchers  enough  for  me  to 
obtain  a  degree.  So  a  special  convocation  was  called, 
and  my  companion  in  the  ceremony  was  a  better  man 
than  a  military  chief,  like  Lord  Gough.  I  like  Lord 
Northampton  very  much.  He  was  at  the  Bishop's,  and 
we  drove  together  from  Cuddesdon  to  Oxford.  He  is  a 
man  of  very  active  mind.  He  told  me  some  good  anec 
dotes  ;  among  others,  an  answer  of  the  Duke  to  a  gentle 
man  who  asked  him  if  he  had  not  been  surprised  at  the 
battle  of  Waterloo.  The  Duke  coldly  replied,  u  I  never 
was  surprised,  as  well  as  I  can  remember,  till  now,  in  my 
life."  Did  you  ever  hear  of  his  fine  answer  to  a  lady  who 
was  glorifying  his  victories  ?  "  A  victory,  ma'am,  is  the 
246 


Sydney  Smith's  Repartee 

saddest  thing  in  the  world,  except  a  defeat."  Now  that 
Sydney  Smith  is  gone,  Rogers  furnishes  the  nicest  touches 
in  the  way  of  repartee.  His  conversation  even  in  his 
dilapidated  condition,  on  his  back,  is  full  of  salt,  not  to 
say  cayenne.  I  was  praising  somebody's  good-nature 
very  much.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  "  so  much  good-nature,  that 
there  is  no  room  for  good-sense.1'  .  .  . 

Of  all  the  notabilities  no  one  has  struck  me  more  than 
the  Iron  Duke.  His  face  is  as  fresh  as  a  young  man's. 
He  stoops  much  and  is  a  little  deaf.  It  is  interesting  to 
see  with  what  an  affectionate  and  respectful  feeling  he  is 
regarded  by  all,  —  not  least  by  the  Queen.  .  .  . 

With  ever  so  much  love  to  Anna,  and  Anika,  and  little 
Lizzie, 

I  remain,  dear  George, 

Always  affectionately  yours, 

WM.  H.  PRESCOTT 

Bret  Harte  feels  like  a  defunct  English  lord   -<^      ^> 

(To  his  wife) 

"THE  MOLT,"  SALCOMBE,  KINGSBRIDGE, 
DEVONSHIRE,  Aug.  19,  1878 

MY  DEAR  ANNA,  ...    I  wrote  you  from  London  a 
day  or  two  ago.     Since  then  I  came  down  here  to 
visit  Froude  (the  historian),  who  has  treated  me  with  very 
particular  kindness.  .   .   . 

It  is  without  exception,  one  of  the  most  perfect  country 
houses  I  ever  beheld.  Imagine,  if  you  can,  something 
between  "  Locksley  Hall  "  and  the  «  High  Hall  Garden," 
where  Maud  used  to  walk,  and  you  have  some  idea  of  this 
graceful  English  home.  I  look  from  my  windows  down 
upon  exquisite  lawns  and  terraces  all  sloping  towards  the 
247 


The  Friendly  Craft 

sea  wall  and  then  down  upon  the  blue  sea  below.  I  walk 
out  in  the  long  high  garden,  past  walls  hanging  with  netted 
peaches  and  apricots,  past  terraces  looking  over  the  ruins 
of  an  old  feudal  castle,  and  I  can  scarcely  be  ieve  I  am  not 
reading  an  English  novel  or  that  I  am  not  myself  a  wan 
dering  ghost.  To  heighten  the  absurdity  when  I  return  to 
my  room  I  am  confronted  by  the  inscription  on  the  door, 
"  Lord  Devon "  (for  this  is  the  property  of  the  Earl  of 
Devon,  and  I  occupy  his  favorite  room),  and  I  seem  to 
have  died  and  to  be  resting  under  a  gilded  mausoleum 
that  lies  even  more  than  the  average  tombstone  does. 
Froude  is  a  connection  of  the  EarTs,  and  has  hired  the 
house  for  the  summer. 

He  is  a  widower,  with  two  daughters  and  a  son.  The 
eldest  girl  is  not  unlike  a  highly  educated  Boston  girl, 
and  the  conversation  sometimes  reminds  me  of  Boston. 
The  youngest  daughter,  only  ten  years  old,  told  her  sister 
in  reference  to  some  conversation  Froude  and  I  had  that 
" she  feared"  (this  child)  "that  Mr.  Bret  Harte  was  in 
clined  to  be  sceptical!"  Doesn't  this  exceed  any  English 
story  of  the  precocity  of  American  children  ?  The  boy, 
scarcely  fourteen,  acts  like  a  boy  of  eight  (an  American  boy 
of  eight)  and  talks  like  a  man  of  thirty,  as  far  as  pure  English 
and  facility  of  expression  goes.  His  manners  are  perfect, 
yet  he  is  perfectly  simple  and  boylike.  The  culture  and 
breeding  of  some  English  children  is  really  marvelous. 
But  somehow  —  and  here  comes  one  of  my  "  buts  "  —  there's 
always  a  suggestion  of  some  repression,  some  discipline 
that  I  don't  like.  Everybody  is  carefully  trained  to  their 
station,  and  seldom  bursts  out  beyond  it.  The  respect 
always  shown  towards  me  is  something  fine  —  and  depress 
ing.  I  can  easily  feel  how  this  deference  to  superiors  is 
ingrained  in  all. 

But  Froude  —  dear  old  noble  fellow  —  is  splendid.  I 
248 


Walking  and  Talking 

love  him  more  than  I  ever  did  in  America.  He  is  great, 
broad,  manly  —  democratic  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word, 
scorning  all  sycophancy  and  meanness,  accepting  all  that  is 
around  him,  yet  more  proud  of  his  literary  profession  than 
of  his  kinship  with  these  people  whom  he  quietly  controls. 
There  are  only  a  few  literary  men  like  him  here,  but  they 
are  kings.  I  could  not  have  had  a  better  introduction  to 
them  than  through  Froude,  who  knows  them  all,  who  is 
Tennyson's  best  friend,  and  who  is  anxious  to  make  my 
entree  among  them  a  success.  I  had  forgotten  that  Canon 
Kingsley,  whom  you  liked  so  much,  is  Froude's  brother- 
in-law,  until  Froude  reminded  me  of  it.  So  it  is  like  being 
among  friends  here. 

So  far  IVe  avoided  seeing  any  company  here;  but 
Froude  and  I  walk  and  walk,  and  talk  and  talk.  .  .  . 

I'll  write  you  from  London.  God  bless  you  all.  —  Your 
affectionate 

FRANK 

"  He  killed  the  hare "    ^    ^     ^y     <>y     ^    ^y 

(To  T.  Edgar  Pemberton) 

MY  DEAR  PEMBERTON,  —  Don't  be  alarmed  if  you 
should  hear  of  my  having  nearly  blown  the  top  of 
my  head  off.  Last  Monday  I  had  my  face  badly  cut  by 
the  recoil  of  an  overloaded  gun.  I  do  not  know  yet  be 
neath  these  bandages  whether  I  shall  be  permanently 
marked.  At  present  I  am  invisible,  and  have  tried  to  keep 
the  accident  secret. 

When  the  surgeon  was  stitching  me  together  the  son  of 
the  house,  a  boy  of  twelve,  came  timidly  to  the  door  of 
my  room.  "Tell  Mr.  Bret  Harte  it's  all  right,"  he  said ; 
"  he  killed  the  hare ! "  —  Yours  always, 

BRET  HARTE 
249 


The  Friendly  Craft 

For  certain  purposes  Edwin  Laurence  Godkin  prefers 
England  to  America    ^>    ^>    ^y    *^x    -v>    ^> 

ADHURST  ST.  MARY,  PETERSFIELD,  [ENGLAND] 

Aug.  1 6,  1897 

MY  DEAR  SEDGWICK  :  — 
There  are  many  things  here  which  would  reconcile 
me  to  America,  but  there  is  no  country  in  the  world  to 
day  in  which  you  can  be  very  happy  if  you  care  about 
politics  and  the  progress  of  mankind,  while  there  are  many 
in  which  you  can  be  very  comfortable,  if  you  occupy  your 
self  simply  with  gardening,  lawn  tennis  and  true  religion. 
This  is  one  of  them.  I  think  I  could  prepare  for  heaven 
far  more  easily  here  than  in  America.  .  .  . 

Abigail  Adams  disapproves  of  Paris  and  Parisiennes, 
in  short,  prefers  Boston       ^>       -x>      ^>      ^y 

(To  Miss  Cranch) 

MY  DEAR  LUCY,  ...  You  inquire  of  me  how  I  like 
Paris.  Why,  they  tell  me  I  am  no  judge,  for  that 
I  have  not  seen  it  yet.  One  thing,  I  know,  and  that  is 
that  I  have  smelt  it.  If  I  was  agreeably  disappointed  in 
London,  I  am  as  much  disappointed  in  Paris.  It  is  the 
very  dirtiest  place  I  ever  saw.  There  are  some  buildings 
and  some  squares,  which  are  tolerable ;  but  in  general  the 
streets  are  narrow,  the  shops,  the  houses,  inelegant  and 
dirty,  the  streets  full  of  lumber  and  stone,  with  which  they 
build.  Boston  cannot  boast  so  elegant  public  buildings ; 
but,  in  every  other  respect,  it  is  as  much  superior  in  my 
eyes  to  Paris,  as  London  is  to  Boston.  To  have  had 
Paris  tolerable  to  me,  I  should  not  have  gone  to  London. 
As  to  the  people  here,  they  are  more  given  to  hospitality 
250 


A  Very  Bad  One 

than  in  England,  it  is  said.  I  have  been  in  company  with 
but  one  French  lady  since  I  arrived  ;  for  strangers  here 
make  the  first  visit,  and  nobody  will  know  you  until  you 
have  waited  upon  them  in  form. 

This  lady  I  dined  with  at  Dr.  Franklin's.  She  entered 
the  room  with  a  careless,  jaunty  air;  upon  seeing  ladies 
who  were  strangers  to  her,  she  bawled  out,  u  Ah  !  mon 
Dieu,  where  is  Franklin?  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  there 
were  ladies  here  ? "  You  must  suppose  her  speaking  all 
this  in  French.  "  How  I  look  !  "  said  she,  taking  hold  of 
a  chemise  made  of  tiffany,  which  she  had  on  over  a  blue 
lutestring,  and  which  looked  as  much  upon  the  decay  as 
her  beauty,  for  she  was  once  a  handsome  woman  ;  her  hair 
was  frizzled  ;  over  it  she  had  a  small  straw  hat,  with  a  dirty 
gauze  half-handkerchief  round  it,  and  a  bit  of  dirtier  gauze, 
than  ever  my  maids  wore,  was  bowed  on  behind.  She  had 
a  black  gauze  scarf  thrown  over  her  shoulders.  She  ran 
out  of  the  room  ;  when  she  returned,  the  Doctor  entered 
at  one  door,  she  at  the  other ;  upon  which  she  ran  forward 
to  him,  caught  him  by  the  hand,  "  Helas  !  Franklin  "  ;  then 
gave  him  a  double  kiss,  one  upon  each  cheek,  and  another 
upon  his  forehead.  When  we  went  into  the  room  to  dine, 
she  was  placed  between  the  Doctor  and  Mr.  Adams.  She 
carried  on  the  chief  of  the  conversation  at  dinner,  fre 
quently  locking  her  hand  into  the  Doctor's,  and  sometimes 
spreading  her  arms  upon  the  backs  of  both  the  gentlemen's 
chairs,  then  throwing  her  arm  carelessly  upon  the  Doctor's 
neck. 

I  should  have  been  greatly  astonished  at  this  conduct, 
if  the  good  Doctor  had  not  told  me  that  in  this  lady  I 
should  see  a  genuine  Frenchwoman,  wholly  free  from  affec 
tation  or  stiffness  of  behaviour,  and  one  of  the  best  women 
in  the  world.  For  this  I  must  take  the  Doctor's  word ; 
but  I  should  have  set  her  down  for  a  very  bad  one,  although 
251 


The  Friendly  Craft 

sixty  years  of  age.  and  a  widow.  I  own  I  was  highly  dis 
gusted,  and  never  wish  for  an  acquaintance  with  any  ladies 
of  this  cast.  After  dinner  she  threw  herself  upon  a  settee, 
where  she  showed  more  than  her  feet.  She  had  a  little 
lap-dog,  who  was,  next  to  the  Doctor,  her  favorite,  and 
whom  she  kissed.  This  is  one  of  the  Doctor's  most  inti 
mate  friends,  with  whom  he  dines  once  every  week,  and 
she  with  him.  She  is  rich,  and  is  my  near  neighbour ;  but 
I  have  not  yet  visited  her.  Thus  you  see,  my  dear,  that 
manners  differ  exceedingly  in  different  countries.  I  hope, 
however,  to  find  amongst  the  French  ladies  manners  more 
consistent  with  my  ideas  of  decency,  or  I  shall  be  a  mere 
recluse. 

You  must  write  to  me,  and  let  me  know  all  about  you ; 
marriages,  births,  and  preferments  ;  every  thing  you  can 
think  of.  Give  my  respects  to  the  Germantown  family. 
I  shall  begin  to  get  letters  for  them  by  the  next  vessel. 

Good  night.     Believe  me 

Your  most  affectionate  aunt, 

A.  A. 

Celia  Thaxter  loses  her  heart  and  exhausts  her  adjec 
tives  in  Milan     ^><^^^^>-^x^><^^y 

(To  Mrs.  Annie  Fields) 

GOLD  carnations !     Yes,  just  as  true  as  you  live, 
cloth-of-gold   carnations  !     I  saw  them  heaped 
in  a  shop-window ;  the  color  of  those  great  gold  roses  at 
home  (Marshal  —  what  do  you  call  them  ?) .     With  these 
eyes  I  saw  them  just  now ! 

Oh  this  place!    it   is   so   charming!     One   eternal   and 

chronic  Italian  opera  all  day  and  all  night.     Such  great 

basses  and  tenors  superbly  sounding  through  the  night ; 

such  flashing  dark  eyes  and  midnight  hair;  and  men  of 

252 


The  Pathos  of  It  All 

all  sorts  and  sizes,  all  wearing  long  cloaks  with  one  end 
cast  over  the  shoulder  with  a  grace  which  is  indescribable; 
and  women  wearing  over  the  head  a  square  of  black  lace, 
one  corner  gathered  over  the  head,  the  rest  falling  over 
the  shoulders  and  down  the  back  —  oh,  so  lovely !  Every 
woman  wears  this  headgear,  of  poorer  or  richer  materials, 
and  to  the  older  and  more  scraggy  it  gives  a  kind  of 
dignity  and  grace ;  but  on  the  young  and  fair,  ye  gods ! 
how  beautiful  it  is!  Oh,  the  sights  in  the  streets  !  how 
fascinating !  Last  night  we  went  out,  soon  after  we  arrived, 
into  the  splendid  arcade  through  the  square,  where  the 
colossal  statue  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci  loomed  white  in 
the  moonlight,  with  the  four  pupils  at  the  corners  of  the 
lofty  pedestal.  Through  the  wonderful  arcade  we  passed, 
—  it  was  all  glittering  with  shops  and  royal  stuffs  and 
jewels,  —  and  out  into  the  square  beyond,  where  the 
cathedral  lifted  its  forest  of  white  marble  spires,  like 
frostwork,  to  the  moon ;  wonderful,  wonderful !  This 
morning  we  climbed  up  and  out  on  its  roof  in  the  midst 
of  those  exquisite  spires,  each  with  its  statue  atop.  The 
city  lay  half  in  soft  haze  below,  half  revealed  —  a  lovely 
picture.  This  afternoon  we  went  to  a  great  performance 
in  the  cathedral.  The  immense  interior  was  filled  with  a 
great  multitude.  There  were  clouds  of  incense,  and  cords 
of  golden  crosses  and  tons  of  candles  flaring.  The  long 
procession  moved  round  the  church  among  the  people  with 
singing,  chanting,  and  organ-playing,  I  saw  a  priest  the 
living  image  of  John  G.  Whittier,  and  a  younger  one  who 
looked  like  my  Roland.  But  a  great  many  of  them  were 
very  piggy  indeed.  Oh,  their  laces,  their  silks,  their  gold 
and  silver  and  precious  stones,  their  bowing  and  courtesy- 
ing,  how  tedious!  how  like  the  dancing  of  the  common 
Lancers  of  our  country !  But  the  people!  Oh,  the  pathos 
of  it  all !  Every  face  a  study !  Such  devotion,  such  love 
253 


T 


The  Friendly  Craft 

and  sorrow  and  fearful  hope !  In  all  the  service  in  England 
and  everywhere  there  is  but  one  cry  to  which  my  heart 
responds.  It  seems  the  one  significant  utterance.  It  is, 
"  Lord  have  mercy  upon  us,'1  helpless  and  defenseless  that 
we  are.  It  seems  to  me  the  whole  thing  might  be  simpli 
fied  into  that  one  cry.  .  .  . 

Washington    Irving   visits    a    German    "  Bracebridge 
Hall"      *o      ^^      ^y      ^^      ^^       ^>      <^ 
(To  C.  R.  Leslie) 

DRESDEN,  March  15,  1823 

^HE  place  where  I  am  now  passing  my  time  is 
a  complete  study.  The  court  of  this  little  king 
dom  of  Saxony  is,  perhaps,  the  most  ceremonious  and  old- 
fashioned  in  Europe,  and  one  finds  here  customs  and 
observances  in  full  vigor  that  have  long  since  faded  away 
in  other  courts. 

The  king  is  a  capital  character  himself.  A  complete 
old  gentleman  of  the  ancient  school,  and  very  tenacious  in 
keeping  up  the  old  style.  He  has  treated  me  with  the 
most  marked  kindness,  and  every  member  of  the  royal 
family  has  shown  me  great  civility.  What  would  greatly 
delight  you  is  the  royal  hunting  establishment,  which  the 
king  maintains  at  a  vast  expense,  being  his  hobby.  He 
has  vast  forests  stocked  with  game,  and  a  complete  forest 
police,  forest  masters,  chasseurs,  piqueurs,  ja'gers,  &c., 
&c.  The  charm  of  the  thing  is,  that  all  this  is  kept  up  in 
the  old  style;  and  to  go  out  hunting  with  him,  you  might 
fancy  yourself  in  one  of  those  scenes  of  old  times  which  we 
read  of  in  poetry  and  romance.  I  have  followed  him  thrice 
to  the  boar  hunt.  The  last  we  had  extremely  good  sport. 
The  boar  gave  us  a  chase  of  upwards  of  two  hours,  and 
was  not  overpowered  until  it  had  killed  one  dog,  and  des- 
254 


Helter  Skelter 

perately  wounded  several  others.  It  was  a  very  cold  winter 
day,  with  much  snow  on  the  ground  ;  but  as  the  hunting  was 
in  a  thick  pine  forest  and  the  day  was  sunny,  we  did  not  feel 
the  cold.  The  king  and  all  his  hunting  retinue  were  clad 
in  an  old-fashioned  hunting  uniform  of  green,  with  green 
caps.  The  sight  of  the  old  monarch  and  his  retinue  gal 
loping  through  the  alleys  of  the  forest,  the  jagers  dashing 
singly  about  in  all  directions,  cheering  the  hounds ;  the 
shouts ;  the  blasts  of  horns  ;  the  cry  of  hounds  ringing 
through  the  forest,  altogether  made  one  of  the  most  animat 
ing  scenes  I  ever  beheld.  .  .  . 

Being  an  account  of  the  way  in  which  Charles  Godfrey 
Leland  "  took  Europe  like  a  pie  "     ^    ^    ^ 

(To  Henry  Perry  Leland) 
PARIS,  LATIN  QUARTER  (cheap  and  fly !) 

le  1 8  Nov.  cold  and  clear 

MY  OWN  BRAVE  HARRY,  —  God  bless  you  a 
thousand  times  for  your  letter,  dated  nothing  at 
all,  which  came  by  the  last  steamer.  I  feel  warmed  to  the 
soul  to  think  what  a  good  friend  I  have  at  home  in  thee. 
Oh,  a  thousand  blessings  on  thy  warm,  true  heart !  .  .  . 
As  for  my  Polish  business,  it  was  a  wild,  adventurous, 
nightmare  piece  of  business  which  makes  me  shudder 
when  I  think  of  it.  Oh,  that  silent,  dead,  ghastly  land, 
with  its  long  dead 'levels  and  moaning  pine  forests  and 
mud  —  mud  !  It  was  dreary  and  witchlike  and  wild.  But 
that  delicious  rainy  morning,  at  four  o'clock,  at  the  mercy 
of  a  pack  of  Russians  in  a  wilderness  !  How  jolly  Vienna 
was  !  Oh,  the  theatre  and  cafe's,  etc.,  etc.  Won't  I  talk 
when  I  return  !  And  the  whole  journey,  helter  skelter, 
pipe  in  mouth,  and  devil  take  the  odds.  Didn't  we  go  it ! 
I  was  the  individ.  as  enjoyed  myself.  Sometimes  half 
255 


The  Friendly  Craft 

dead  with  fatigue,  cold  and  hunger,  and  then,  plump,  slap 
into  the  fat  of  the  land.  And  such  a  companion  !  Didivt 
he  travel  into  the  tobacco  and  wine  and  beer  !  We  took 
Europe  like  a  pie  between  us  and  helped  ourselves.  Then 
came  Berlin,  and  the  American  students,  and  a  public  ball, 
and  all  sorts  of  fun,  and  the  glorious  gallery,  and  then 
Hanover  and  an  adventure,  and  then  Westphalia,  and 
Cologne,  and  Rotterdam,  and  Amsterdam.  Holland  is  a 
mean  sort  of  a  snobbish  land,  devilish  dear,  and  I  trav 
elled  through  it  to  say  I'd  been  there,  for  it  is  terribly 
deficient  in  all  attractions  or  curious  articles.  It's  4.  I'm 
off  to  dinner,  cheap  and  common,  and  then  —  Don 
Giovanni  with  Lablache  and  Grisi.  Don't  you  (and 
don't  /)  wish  you  were  with  me?  .  .  . 

Why  travel?     x^y    x^>    ^>    <^x    *^y    ^y    *c^    ^y 

(Catharine  Sedgwick  to  Mrs.  K.  S.  Minot) 

LENOX,  September  28,  1851 
'T  is  good,  as  the  burdens   of  age  accumulate,  to 


I 


shake  them  all  off;  to  change  old,  tiresome  ideas 
for  new  ones  ;  to  take  a  world  of  fresh  impressions ;  to 
fill  the  store-house  of  imagination  with  new  and  beautiful 
images ;  to  gain  assurance  to  uncertain  opinions ;  to 
verify  old  fancies  ;  to  throw  off  some  of  your  old  social 
burdens  while  you  extend  the  social  chain ;  in  short,  to  go 
tc  Italy  and  come  home  again  !  And  I  think  it  would  be 
a  good  plan,  Kate,  to  send  out  one  of  the  family  every 
year  to  bring  home  "  bread  and  fruit "  for  those  that  must 
stay  at  home.  Plowshares  and  reaping-hooks  are  grand 
things,  but  one  would  like  some  of  the  delectations  of  life. 
It  was  a  convenient  way  of  watering  the  earth  in  the  old 
times  of  Adam  and  Eve  by  dews,  but  the  clouds  and 
rainbows  are  the  fine  arts  of  Nature.  .  .  . 
256 


Words  of  Comfort 

X 

.  MAKERS   OF   HISTORY 

John  Winthrop  is  elected  governor  of  the  Massachu 
setts  Company     ^>  *o    x^    -«s>x    <^*    ^^x    ^> 

("To    my  verye   lovinge  Wife,  Mrs   Winthrop  the   elder 
at  Groton,  SufTk") 

MY  DEARE  WIFE,  — I  am  verye  sorry  that  I  am 
forced  to  feed  thee  wth  lettres,  when  my  presence 
is  thy  due,  &  so  much  desired  :  but  my  trust  is,  that  he 
who  hath  so  disposed  of  it,  will  supply  thee  wth  patience, 
&  better  comforte  in  the  want  of  him  whom  thou  so 
much  desirest :  The  Lord  is  able  to  doe  this,  &  thou 
mayst  expect  it,  for  he  hath  promised  it.  Seeinge  he 
calls  me  into  his  worke,  he  will  have  care  of  thee  &  all 
o"  &  or  affaires  in  my  absence :  therefore  I  must  sende 
thee  to  him,  for  all  thou  lackest :  goe  boldly  (sweet  wife) 
to  the  throne  of  Grace;  if  any  thinge  trouble  thee, 
acquainte  the  Lord  wth  it ;  tell  him,  he  hath  taken  thy 
husband  from  thee,  pray  him  to  be  a  husband  to  thee, 
a  father  to  thy  children,  a  master  to  thy  householde, 
thou  shalt  finde  him  faithfull :  thou  art  not  guilty  of 
my  departure,  thou  hast  not  driven  me  awaye  by  any 
unkindnesse,  or  want  of  dutye,  therefore  thou  mayst 
challenge  protection  &  blessinge  of  him. 

I  prayse  the  Lorde  I  am  in  health  &  cheerfull  in  my 
course,  wherein  I  find  God  gratiously  present,  so  as  we 
expect,  he  wilbe  pleased  to  direct  &  prosper  us.  We 
have  great  advantage  because  we  have  many  prayers. 

Bee  not  discouraged  (deare  heart)  though  I  sett  thee 
no  tyme  of  my  returne ;  I  hope  it  shall  not  be  longe,  & 
I  will  make  no  more  staye  then  I   needs   must. 
S  257 


The  Friendly  Craft 

So  it  is  that  it  hath  pleased  the  Lorde  to  call  me  to 
a  further  trust  in  this  businesse  of  the  Plantation,  then 
either  I  expected  or  finde  myselfe  fitt  for,  (beinge  chosen 
by  the  Company  to  be  their  Governor) .  The  onely  thinge 
that  I  have  comforte  of  in  it  is,  that  heerby  I  have 
assurance  that  my  charge  is  of  the  Lorde  &  that  he 
hath  called  me  to  this  worke :  O  that  he  would  give 
me  an  heart  now  to  answeare  his  goodnesse  to  me,  & 
the  expectation  of  his  people!  I  never  had  more  need 
of  prayers,  helpe  me  (deare  wife)  &  lett  us  sett  or  hearts 
to  seeke  the  Lorde,  &  cleave  to  him  sincearly. 

My  brothers  &  sisters  salute  you  all :  my  sonne  remem 
bers  his  dutye  to  thee,  &  salutations  to  all  the  rest. 
Comende  me  kindly  to  all  or  friends  at  Groton  hall,  & 
to  Mr  Leigh  &  his  wife,  my  neighbor  Cole  &  his  wife, 
or  friends  at  Castleins  &  all  that  love  us.  So  the  Lorde 
blesse  thee  &  all  or  children  &  companye.  So  I  kisse 
my  sweet  wife  &  rest 

thy  faith  full  husband  Jo  :  WINTHROP 

Octob:  20  1629 

I  would  faine  knowe  if  thou  shalt  be  like  to  goe  wth  me, 
for  thou  shalt  never  have  so  good  opportunity.  Let  John 
enqr  out  2  :  or  3  :  Carpenters :  &  knowe  how  many  of 
or  neighbors  will  goe,  that  we  may  provide  shipps  for 
them.  .  .  . 

Governor  Bradford  explains  to  Mr.  Weston  the  delay 
in  sending  back  the  "  Mayflower  "       ^y   ^>-  -<^v 

SR :    Your  large  letter  written  to  M:  Carver,  and  dated 
ye  6.  of  July,  1621,  I  have  received  ye  10.  of  Novembr, 
wherein  (after  ye  apologie   made  for  your   selfe)  you  lay 
many  heavie  imputations  upon  him  and  us  all.     Touching 
258 


Great  Tribulation 

him,  he  is  departed  this  life,  and  now  is  at  rest  in  ye  Lord 
from  all  those  troubls  and  incoumbrances  with  which  we 
are  yet  to  strive.  He  needs  not  my  apologie  ;  for  his  care 
and  pains  was  so  great  for  ye  commone  good,  both  ours 
and  yours,  as  that  therewith  (it  is  thought)  he  oppressed 
him  selfe  and  shortened  his  days  ;  of  whose  loss  we  cannot 
sufficiently  complaine.  At  great  charges  in  this  adventure, 
I  confess  you  have  beene,  and  many  losses  may  sustaine ; 
but  ye  loss  of  his  and  many  other  honest  and  industrious 
mens  lives,  cannot  be  vallewed  at  any  prise.  Of  ye  one, 
there  may  be  hope  of  recovery,  but  ye  other  no  recompence 
can  make  good.  But  I  will  not  insiste  in  generalls,  but 
come  more  perticulerly  to  yc  things  them  selves.  You 
greatly  blame  us  for  keeping  ye  ship  so  long  in  ye  countrie, 
and  then  to  send  her  away  emptie.  She  lay  5.  weks  at 
Cap-Codd,  whilst  with  many  a  weary  step  (after  a  long 
journey)  and  the  indurance  of  many  a  hard  brunte,  we 
sought  out  in  the  foule  winter  a  place  of  habitation.  Then 
we  went  in  so  tedious  a  time  to  make  provission  to  sheelter 
us  and  our  goods,  aboute  weh  labour,  many  of  our  armes  & 
leggs  can  tell  us  to  this  day  we  were  not  necligent.  But 
it  pleased  God  to  vissite  us  then,  with  death  dayly,  and 
with  so  generall  a  disease,  that  the  living  were  scarce 
able  to  burie  the  dead ;  and  ye  well  not  in  any  measure 
sufficiente  to  tend  ye  sick.  And  now  to  be  so  greatly 
blamed,  for  not  fraighting  ye  ship,  doth  indeed  goe  near 
us,  and  much  discourage  us.  But  you  say  you  know  we 
will  pretend  weaknes ;  and  doe  you  think  we  had  not 
cause?  Yes,  you  tell  us  you  beleeve  it,  but  it  was  more 
weaknes  of  judgmente,  then  of  hands.  Our  weaknes  herin 
is  great  we  confess,  therefore  we  will  bear  this  check 
patiently  amongst  ye  rest,  till  God  send  us  wiser  men.  But 
they  which  tould  you  we  spent  so  much  time  in  discoursing 
&  consulting,  &c.,  their  harts  can  tell  their  toungs,  they 
259 


The  Friendly   Craft 

lye.  They  cared  not,  so  they  might  salve  their  owne  sores, 
how  they  wounded  others.  Indeed,  it  is  our  callamitie 
that  we  are  (beyound  expectation)  yoked  with  some  ill 
conditioned  people,  who  will  never  doe  good,  but  corrupte 
and  abuse  others,  &c.  .  .  . 

Samuel  Sewall  protests  against  the  acting  of  plays    ^y 

("  To  the  honble  Isaac  Addington  Esqr.  Secretary.  To  be 
Comunicated  to  his  Excellency  the  Governour,  and 
to  the  honorable  Council ") 

BOSTON  OF  THE  MASSACHUSETTS;  March  2,  1713-14 

'HHHERE  is  a  Rumor,  as  if  some  design'd  to  have  a  Play 
J-  acted  in  the  Council-Chamber,  next  Monday  ;  which 
much  surprises  me :  And  as  much  as  in  me  lyes,  I  do  for 
bid  it.  The  Romans  were  very  fond  of  their  Plays  :  but 
I  never  heard  they  were  so  far  set  upon  them,  as  to  turn 
their  Senat-House  into  a  Play-House.  Our  Town-House 
was  built  at  great  Cost  &  Charge,  for  the  sake  of  very  seri 
ous  and  important  Business ;  the  Three  Chambers  above, 
&  the  Exchange  below ;  Business  of  the  Province,  County, 
&  Town.  Let  it  not  be  abused  with  Dances  or  other 
Scenical  divertisements.  It  cariot  be  a  Honor  to  the 
Queen,  to  have  the  Laws  of  Honesty  and  Sobriety  broken 
in  upon.  Ovid  himself  offers  invincible  Argument  against 
publick  Plays: 

Ut  tamen  hoc  fatear  ;  Ludi  quoq\u\ e  semina  pr&bent 
N equities  : 

Let  not  Christian  Boston  goe  beyond  Heathen  Rome  in 
the  practice  of  shamefull  Vanities. 

This  is  the   Voice   of  your   most   humble   &   obedient 
Servant,  SAMUEL  SEWALL 


260 


News  at  Last 

James  Warren  relies  on  Providence  and  the  people  x^^ 

(To  his  wife  from  Concord,  April  6,  1775) 
Y  DEAR  MERCY,  — Four  days  ago  I  had  full  Con- 


M 


fidence  that  I  should  have  had  the  pleasure  of  being 
with  you  this  day,  we  were  then  near  closeing  the  Session. 
Last  Saturday  we  came  near  to  an  Adjournment,  were 
almost  equally  divided  on  that  question,  the  principle  argu 
ment  that  seemd  to  preponderate,  &  turn  in  favour  of  set 
ting  into  this  week  was  the  prospect  of  News  &  News  we 
have,  last  week  things  wore  rather  a  favourable  aspect,  but 
alas  how  uncertain  are  our  prospects.  Sunday  evening 
brought  us  Accounts  of  a  Vessel  at  Marblehead  from  Fal- 
mouth,  &  the  English  Papers  £c  by  her.  I  have  no  need 
to  recite  particulars  you  will  have  the  whole  in  the  Papers, 
&  wont  wonder  at  my  forgoeing  the  pleasure  of  being  with 
you.  I  dare  say  you  would  not  desire  to  see  me  till  I  could 
tell  you  that  I  had  done  all  in  my  power  to  secure  &  defend 
us  &  our  Country.  We  are  no  longer  at  a  loss  what  is  In 
tended  us  by  our  dear  Mother.  -  We  have  askd  for  Bread 
and  she  gives  us  a  Stone,  &  a  serpent  for  a  Fish,  however 
my  Spirits  are  by  no  means  depressd,  you  well  know  my 
Sentiments  of  the  Force  of  both  Countrys,  you  know  my 
opinion  of  the  Justness  of  our  Cause,  you  know  my  Confi 
dence  in  a  Righteous  Providence.  I  seem  to  want  nothing 
to  keep  up  my  Spirits  &  to  Inspire  me  with  a  proper  reso 
lution  to  Act  my  part  well  in  this  difficult  time  but  seeing 
you  in  Spirits,  &  knowing  that  they  flow  from  the  heart, 
how  shall  I  support  myself  if  you  suffer  these  Misfortunes 
to  prey  on  your  tender  frame  &  add  to  my  difficulties  an 
affliction  too  great  to  bear  of  itself,  the  Vertuous  should  be 
happy  under  all  Circumstances.  This  state  of  things  will 
last  but  a  little  while.  I  believe  we  shall  have  many  chear- 
ful  rides  together  yet.  we  proposed  last  week  a  short  ad- 
261 


The   Friendly   Craft 

journment  &  I  had  in  a  manner  Engaged  a  Chamber  here 
for  my  Beloved  &  pleased  myself  with  the  health  &  pleas 
ure  the  Journey  was  to  give  her,  but  I  believe  it  must  be 
postponed  till  some  Event  takes  place  &  changes  the  face 
of  things.  All  things  wear  a  warlike  appearance  here, 
this  Town  is  full  of  Cannon,  ammunition  stores  &c  £c  & 
the  army  long  for  them  &  they  want  nothing  but  strength 
to  Induce  an  attempt  on  them,  the  people  are  ready  &  de 
termined  to  defend  this  Country  Inch  by  Inch.  The  In 
habitants  of  Boston  begin  to  move,  the  Selectmen  & 
Committee  of  Correspondence  are  to  be  with  us.  ...  but 
to  dismiss  publick  matters  let  me  ask  how  you  do  &  how 
do  my  little  Boys  especially  my  little  Henry  who  was  Com 
plaining.  I  long  to  see  you.  I  long  to  set  with  you  under 
our  Vines  &c  &  have  none  to  make  us  afraid.  ...  I  in 
tend  to  fly  Home  I  mean  as  soon  as  Prudence  Duty  £ 
Honour  will  permitt. 

April  7th 

I^HE  moving  of  the  Inhabitants  of  Boston  if  Effected 
will  be  one  Grand  Move.  I  hope  one  thing  will 
follow  another  till  America  shall  appear  Grand  to  all  the 
world.  I  begin  to  think  of  the  Trunks  which  may  be 
ready  against  I  come  home,  we  perhaps  may  be  forced  to 
Move :  if  we  are  let  us  strive  to  submit  to  the  dispensa 
tions  of  Providence  with  Christian  resignation  &  Phylo- 
sophick  dignity.  God  has  given  you  great  abilities,  you 
have  improved  them  in  great  Acquirements.  You  are 
possess*^  of  Eminent  Virtues  &  distinguished  Piety,  for 
all  these  I  Esteem  I  Love  you  in  a  degree  that  I  can't 
Express,  they  are  all  now  to  be  called  into  action  for  the 
good  of  mankind  for  the  good  of  your  friends,  for  the  pro 
motion  of  virtue  &  patriotism,  don't  let  the  fluttering  of 
your  Heart  Interrupt  your  Health  or  disturb  your  repose. 
262 


War's  Alarms 

believe  me  I  am  continually  Anxious  about  you.  ride 
when  the  weather  is  good  £  don't  work  or  read  too  much 
at  other  times.  I  must  bid  you  adieu.  God  Almighty 
Bless  You  no  letter  yet  what  can  it  mean,  is  she  not  well 
she  can't  forget  me  or  have  any  objections  to  writing.  .  .  . 

The  news  from  Bunker  Hill    ^>    ^>    <^y     ^y     -<^> 

I 
(James  Warren  to  his  wife) 

WATERTOWN,  June  18,  1775 

MY  DEAR  MERCY,  — The  Extraordinary  Nature  of 
the  Events  which  have  taken  place  in  the  last  48 
Hours  have  Interrupted  that  steady  &  only  Intercourse  which 
the  situation  of  publick  affairs  allows  me.  the  Night  before 
last  our  Troops  possess4  themselves  of  a  Hill  in  Charles- 
town  &  had  time  only  to  heave  up  an  Imperfect  Breast 
work  the  regular  Troops  from  the  Batterys  in  Boston  & 
two  Men  of  War  in  the  Ferryway  began  early  next  Morn 
ing  a  Heavy  Fire  on  them  which  was  Continued  till  about 
Noon  when  they  Landed  a  large  Number  of  Troops  & 
after  a  stout  resistance  £  great  Loss  on  their  side  dis 
possessed  our  Men,  who  with  the  Accumulated  disadvan 
tages  of  being  Exposed  to  the  fire  of  their  Cannon  &  the 
want  of  Ammunition  £  not  being  supported  by  fresh 
Troops  were  obliged  to  abandon  the  Town  £  retire  to  our 
Lines  towards  Cambridge  to  which  they  made  a  very 
handsome  addition  last  Night,  with  a  Savage  Barbarity 
never  practised  among  Civilized  Nations  they  fired,  &  have 
utterly  destroyed  the  Town  of  Charlestown.  We  have 
had  this  day  at  Dinner  another  alarm  that  they  were  Ad 
vancing  on  our  Lines,  after  having  reinforced  their  Troops 
with  their  Horse  £c  &  that  they  were  out  at  Roxbury. 
We  Expected  this  would  have  been  an  Important  day. 
263 


The  Friendly  Craft 

they  are  reinforced  but  have  not  Advanced  so  things 
remain  at  present  as  they  were.  We  have  killed  them 
many  Men  &  have  killed  &  wounded  about  an  hundred 
by  the  best  Accounts  I  can  get,  among  the  first  of  whom 
•to  our  inexpressible  Grief  is  My  Friend  Doctr  Warren  who 
was  killd  it  is  supposed  in  the  Lines  on  the  Hill  at 
Charlestown  in  a  Manner  more  Glorious  to  himself  than 
the  fate  of  Wolf  on  the  plains  of  Abraham.  Many  other 
officers  are  wounded  &  some'killd.  it  is  Impossible  to 
describe  the  Confusion  in  this  place,  Women  &  Children 
flying  into  the  Country  armed  Men  Going  to  the  field  & 
wounded  Men  returning  from  there  fil  the  Streets.  I 
shant  attempt  a  description.  Your  Brother  borrowed  a 
Gun  &c  &  went  among  the  flying  Bullets  at  Charlestown 
retd  last  Evening  10  o'clock,  the  Librarian  got  a  slight 
wound  with  a  musket  Ball  in  his  head.  Rowland  has 
this  Minute  come  in  with  your  Letter.  The  Continental 
Congress  have  done  £  are  doing  every  thing  we  can  wish 
Dr  Church  retd  last  Evening  &  Bro{  resolutions  for 
assuming  Gov'  &  for  supplying  provisions  &  powder 
&  he  tells  us  tho  under  the  rose  that  they  are 
Contemplating  &  have  perhaps  finished  the  Estab 
lishment  of  the  Army  &  an  Emission  of  money  to 
pay  £  support  them  &  he  thinks  the  operations  of 
yesterday  will  be  more  than  sufficient  to  Induce 
them  to  recommend  the  Assumption  of  new  forms  of 
Gov*  to  all  the  Colonies.  I  wish  I  could  be  more  perticu- 
lar.  I  am  now  on  a  Committee  of  Importance  &  only 
steal  time  to  add  sentences  seperately.  I  feel  for  my 
Dear  Wife  least  her  apprehensions  should  hurt  her  health, 
be  not  concerned  about  me,  take  care  of  your  self. 
You  can  secure  a  retreat  &  have  proper  Notice  in  Season, 
&  if  you  are  safe  &  the  Boys  I  shall  be  happy  fall  what 
will  to  my  Interest.  I  cant  be  willing  you  should  come 
264 


The  Decisive  Day 

into  this  part  of  the  Country  at  present.  I  will  see  you  as 
soon  as  possible,  cant  say  when,  the  mode  of  Gov*  pre 
scribed  is  according  to  the  last  Charter,  some  are  quite 
satisfied  with  it  you  know  I  wishd  for  a  more  perfect  one. 
it  is  now  Monday  Morning.  I  hear  nothing  yet  but  the 
roaring  of  Cannon  below,  but  no  Body  regards  them.  I 
need  not  say  that  I  long  to  see  you,  perhaps  never  more 
in  my  life.  I  shall  try  hard  for  it  this  week.  I  hope  your 
strawberries  are  well  taken  care  of  &  that  you  have  fine 
feasting  on  them.  Your  Brother  is  waiting  for  Freeman 
who  with  all  his  patriotism  has  left  us  for  10  days.  I  have 
letters  from  both  Mr  Adams  &  Gushing.  I  can't  Inclose 
them,  because  I  must  answer  them  when  I  can  get  opp^  I 
am  calld  on  &  must  Conclude  with  my  wishes  &  prayer 
for  yr  Happiness  with  Love  to  my  Boys  £  regards  to 
Friends  your  aff  Husband 

jAi  WARREN 

S.  Adams  is  very  unwell  the  jaundice  to  a  great  degree 
&  his  spirits  somewhat  depress*1.  Church  hopes  he  will 
recover.  I  hope  some  of  us  will  survive  this  Contest.  .  .  . 

II 
(Abigail  Adams  to  her  husband) 

Sunday,  i^June,  1775 

DEAREST  FRIEND, 
The  day,  —  perhaps,  the 'decisive   day, — is   come, 
on  which  the  fate  of  America  depends.     My  bursting  heart 
must   find  vent   at    my  pen.     I  have  just  heard,  that  our 
dear  friend,  Dr.  Warren,  is  no  more,  but  fell    gloriously 
fighting  for  his  country;  saying,  better  to  die  honorably 
in  the  field,  than  ignominiously  hang  upon  the    gallows. 
Great  is  our  loss.     He  has  distinguished  himself  in  every 
engagement,  by  his  courage  and  fortitude,  by  animating 
265 


The   Friendly  Craft 


the  soldiers,  and  leading  them  on  by  his  own  example. 
A  particular  account  of  those  dreadful,  but  I  hope  glorious 
days  will  be  transmitted  you,  no  doubt,  in  the  exactest 
manner.  .  .  . 

Charlestown  is  laid  in  ashes.  The  battle  began  upon 
our  intrench ments  upon  Bunker's  Hill,  Saturday  morning 
about  three  o'clock,  and  has  not  ceased  yet,  and  it  is  now 
three  o'clock  Sabbath  afternoon. 

It  is  expected  they  will  come  out  over  the  Neck  to-night 
and  a  dreadful  battle  must  ensue.  Almighty  God,  cover 
the  heads  of  our  countrymen,  and  be  a  shield  to  our  dear 
friends  !  How  many  have  fallen,  we  know  not.  The 
constant  roar  of  the  cannon  is  so  distressing,  that  we  can 
not  eat,  drink,  or  sleep.  May  we  be  supported  and 
sustained  in  the  dreadful  conflict.  I  shall  tarry  here  till 
it  is  thought  unsafe  by  my  friends,  and  then  I  have  se 
cured  myself  a  retreat  at  your  brother's,  who  has  kindly 
offered  me  part  of  his  house.  I  cannot  compose  myself 
to  write  any  further  at  present.  I  will  add  more  as  I  hear 
further.  .  .  . 

Mrs.  Washington  and  Mrs.  Warren  take   a  morning 
drive       ^*      ^>      ^>      ^^      <^x      -<^>      <<^> 

(From  Mrs.  James  Warren) 

WATERTOWN,  April  17,  1776 

IF  my  Dear  friend  Required  only  a  very  Long  Letter  to 
make  it  agreeable  I  Could  easily  gratify  her  but  I  know 
there  must  be  many  more  Requisites  to  make  it  pleasing  to 
her  taste,    if  you  Measure  by  Lines  I  Can  at  once  Comply, 
if  by  sentiment  I  fear  I  shall  fall  short,     but  as  Curiosity 
seems  to  be  awake  with  Regard  to  the  Company  I  keep 
&  the  Manner  of  spending  my  time  I  will  endeavour  to 
266 


An   Ideal  Gentlewoman 

gratify  you.  I  arrived  at  my  Lodgings  before  Dinner  the 
day  I  Left  you,  found  an  obliging  family  Convenient  Room 
&  in  the  Main  an  agreeable  set  of  Lodgers.  Next  Morning 
I  took  a  Ride  to  Cambridge  and  waited  on  Mrs  Washing 
ton  at  1 1  o  clock  where  I  was  Received  with  the  politeness 
&  Respect  shown  in  a  first  interview  among  the  well  bred 
&  with  the  Ease  &  Cordiality  of  friendship  of  a  much 
Earlier  date,  if  you  wish  to  hear  more  of  this  Ladys  Char 
acter  I  will  tell  you  I  think  the  Complacency  of  her  Man 
ners  speaks  at  once  the  Benevolence  of  her  Heart  &  her 
affability  Candor  &  Gentleness  quallify  her  to  soften  the 
hours  of  private  Life  or  to  sweeten  the  Cares  of  the  Hero 
&  smooth  the  Rugged  scenes  of  War.  I  did  not  dine  with 
her  though  much  urg'd  but  Engaged  to  spend  the  ensuing 
day  at  headquarters.  She  desired  me  to  Name  an  early 
hour  in  the  Morning  when  she  would  send  her  Chariot 
and  Accompany  me  to  see  the  Deserted  Lines  of  the  enemy 
and  the  Ruins  of  Charleston.  A  Melancholy  sight  the 
Last  which  Evinces  the  Barbaraty  of  the  foe  &  leaves  a 
Deep  impression  of  the  suffering  of  that  unhappy  town. 
Mr  Custice  is  the  only  son  of  the  Lady  [I]  Have  Di- 
scribed,  a  sensible  Modest  agreeable  young  Man.  His 
Lady  a  Daughter  of  Coll  Calvert  of  Mariland,  appears  to 
be  of  an  Engaging  Disposition  but  of  so  Extremely  Delicate 
a  Constitution,  that  it  Deprives  her  as  well  as  her  friends  of 
part  of  the  pleasure  which  I  am  persuaded  would  Result 
from  her  Conversation  did  she  enjoy  a  greater  Share  of 
Health.  She  is  pretty,  genteel  Easy  &  Agreeable,  but  a 
kind  of  Languor  about  her  prevents  her  being  so  sociable 
as  some  Ladies,  yet  it  is  evident  it  is  not  owing  to  that 
want  of  Vivacity  which  renders  youth  agreeable,  but  to  a 
want  of  health  which  a  Little  Clouds  her  spirits.  .  .  . 


267 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Abigail  Adams  counsels  separation     <^  ^^    <^y    ^, 
(To  her  husband) 

BRAINTREE,  12  November,  1775 

'HE  intelligence  you  will  receive  before  this  reaches 
you,  will,  I  should  think,  make  a  plain  path, 
though  a  dangerous  one,  for  you.  I  could  not  join  to-day, 
in  the  petitions  of  our  worthy  pastor,  for  a  reconciliation 
between  our  no  longer  parent  state,  but  tyrant  state,  and 
these  colonies.  Let  us  separate  ;  they  are  unworthy  to  be 
our  brethren.  Let  us  renounce  them;  and,  instead  of 
supplications  as  formerly,  for  their  prosperity  and  happiness, 
let  us  beseech  the  Almighty  to  blast  their  counsels,  and 
bring  to  nought  all  their  devices.  .  .  . 


T 


T 


Eight  months  later  the  colonies  take  action     ^y     -^ 
(John  Adams  to  his  wife,  from  Philadelphia) 

E  second  day  of  July,  1776,  will  be  the  most 
memorable  epocha  in  the  history  of  America. 
I  am  apt  to  believe  that  it  will  be  celebrated  by  succeeding 
generations  as  the  great  anniversary  Festival.  It  ought  to 
be  commemorated,  as  the  day  of  deliverance,  by  solemn 
acts  of  devotion  to  God  Almighty.  It  ought  to  be  solem 
nized  with  pomp  and  parade,  with  shows,  games,  sports, 
guns,  bells,  bonfires  and  illuminations,  from  one  end  of 
this  continent  to  the  other,  from  this  time  forward,  for- 
evermore. 

You  will  think  me  transported  with  enthusiasm,  but  I 
am  not.  I  am  well  aware  of  the  toil,  and  blood,  and 
treasure,  that  it  will  cost  us  to  maintain  this  Declaration, 
and  support  and  defend  these  States.  Yet,  through  all 
the  gloom,  I  can  see  the  rays  of  ravishing  light  and  glory. 
I  can  see  that  the  end  is  more  than  worth  all  the  means. 
268 


I 


Weaned  Out 

And  that  posterity  will  triumph  in  that  day's  transaction, 
even  although  we  should  rue  it,  which  I  trust  in  God  we 
shall  not.  .  .  . 


In  the  dark  days  of  '77  John  Adams  loses  his  temper 

(To  his  wife) 
[PHILADELPHIA,]  Saturday  Evening,  26  April,  1777 

HAVE  been  lately  more  remiss  than  usual  in 
writing  to  you.  There  has  been  a  great  dearth  of 
news.  Nothing  from  England,  nothing  from  France, 
Spain  or  any  other  part  of  Europe,  nothing  from  the  West 
Indies,  nothing  from  Howe  and  his  banditti,  nothing  from 
General  Washington.  There  are  various  conjectures  that 
Lord  Howe  is  dead,  sick,  or  gone  to  England,  as  the 
proclamations  run  in  the  name  of  Will.  Howe  only,  and 
nobody  from  New  York  can  tell  any  thing  of  his  lordship. 
I  am  wearied  out  with  expectations  that  the  Massachusetts 
troops  would  have  arrived,  ere  now,  at  Head  Quarters. 
Do  our  people  intend  to  leave  the  continent  in  the  lurch  ? 
Do  they  mean  to  submit  ?  or  what  fatality  attends  them  ? 
With  the  noblest  prize  in  view  that  ever  mortals  contended 
for,  and  with  the  fairest  prospect  of  obtaining  it  upon  easy 
terms,  the  people  of  Massachusetts  Bay  are  dead.  Does 
our  state  intend  to  send  only  half,  or  a  third  of  their 
quota?  Do  they  wish  to  see  another  crippled,  disastrous 
and  disgraceful  campaign,  for  want  of  an  army?  I  am 
more  sick  and  more  ashamed  of  my  own  countrymen,  than 
ever  I  was  before.  The  spleen,  the  vapors,  the  dismals, 
the  horrors  seem  to  have  seized  our  whole  state.  More 
wrath  than  terror  has  seized  me.  I  am  very  mad.  The 
gloomy  cowardice  of  the  times  is  intolerable  in  New 
England.  Indeed  I  feel  not  a  little  out  of  humor  from 
269 


•The  Friendly  Craft 

indisposition  —  of  body.  You  know  I  cannot  pass  a 
spring,  or  fall  without  an  ill  turn,  and  I  have  had  one  these 
four  or  five  weeks.  A  cold  as  usual.  Warm  weather  and 
a  little  exercise  with  a  little  medicine,  I  suppose,  will  cure 
me,  as  usual.  I  am  not  confined,  but  mope  about  and 
drudge,  as  usual,  like  a  galley  slave.  I  am  a  fool,  if  ever 
there  was  one,  to  be  such  a  slave.  I  wont  be  much  longer. 
I  will  be  more  free  in  some  world  or  other.  Is  it  not  in 
tolerable,  that  the  opening  spring,  which  I  should  enjoy 
with  my  wife  and  children,  upon  my  little  farm,  should 
pass  away,  and  laugh  at  me  for  laboring,  day  after  day, 
and  month  after  month,  in  a  conclave,  where  neither  taste, 
nor  fancy,  nor  reason,  nor  passion,  nor  appetite  can  be 
gratified  ? 

Posterity!  you  will  never  know  how  much  it  cost  the 
present  generation  to  preserve  your  freedom!  I  hope  you 
will  make  good  use  of  it.  If  you  do  not,  I  shall  repent  in 
Heaven  that  I  ever  took  half  the  pains  to  preserve  it.  ... 

And  the  Tories  are  assured  that  the  end  is  near      ^> 

LONDON,  March  14,  1777 

DEAR  JOHNNY, 
Don't  be  frightened  at  seeing  a  letter  from  an  old 
tory  friend,  lest  it  should  come  under  the  inspection  of 
your  high  and  mighty  committees,  as  I  suppose  will  be  the 
case  in  your  free  and  independent  slate.  I  hereby  declare 
I  have  never  received  a  line  from  you  since  I  left  Cam 
bridge,  August  31,  1774,  excepting  one  while  I  was  at  Bos 
ton  relative  to  two  gowns  which  Molly  H.  stole  from  my 
wife,  of  which  I  desired  you  to  make  enquiry,  and  this  is 
the  first  scrip  I  have  attempted  to  you  since  the  said  date, 
so  that  you  can't  be  charged  with  holding  a  correspondence 
with  me.  Thus  much  to  prevent  any  mistakes  which  might 
270 


Tory   Sarcasms 

expose  you  to  the  perils  of  tarring  and  feathering,  Sims- 
bury  mines,  a  gaol  or  a  gallows.  I  presume  it  can  give  no 
offence  to  committees,  congresses,  parsons  or  generals, 
that  I  embrace  a  favourable,  or  rather  a  possible  opportunity 
of  advising  you  that  I  am  yet  in  the  land  of  the  living, 
though  very  probably  they  may  all  be  offended  at  the  fact ; 
but  to  ease  their  gall-bladders  a  little,  I  assure  you  and 
them,  I  hope  in  God  I  shall  not  live  to  see  the  day  when 
America  shall  become  independent  of  Great  Britain.  I 
suppose  by  this  time  you  have  entered  so  thoroughly  into 
their  mad  scheme,  that  it  will  afford  you  no  pleasure  to  hear 
your  quondam  friends  on  this  side  the  Atlantic  are  well. 
However,  I  will  mortify  you  by  assuring  you  they  are  all 
in  good  health  and  spirits,  and  government  has  liberally 
supplied  the  wants  of  all  the  tory  refugees  who  needed  its 
assistance;  and  none  here  entertain  the  penumbra  of  a 
doubt  how  the  game  will  end.  No  more  does  pious,  frank, 
single-eyed,  conscientious  Dr.  Elliot,  you  will  say.  Aye,  I 
have  seen  his  letters  and  compared  them  with  two  or  three 
conversations  he  had  with  me  between  Charlestown  Ferry 
and  the  college,  not  long  before  my  flight.  Well,  duplicity 
may  be  justified  on  some  principles  for  aught  I  know ;  but 
I  don't  like  it.  I  wish  much  to  know  how  Judge  Lee  holds 
his  health  and  spirits.  Apropos.  If  you  have  plenty  of 
paper  money,  and  it  will  answer  his  purpose,  I  wish  you 
would  pay  him  ^30  L.  M.  with  interest  from  September 
1774,  on  my  account,  and  present  him  and  his  lady  my 
best  wishes.  I  should  like  to  take  one  peep  at  my  house, 
but  I  suppose  I  should  not  know  it  again.  Sic  transit 
gloria  mundi.  I  shan't  break  my  heart  about  it.  Every 
dog  they  say  has  his  day,  and  I  doubt  not  I  shall  have 
mine.  Ah,  my  old  friend,  could  you  form  a  just  idea  of 
the  immense  wealth  and  power  of  the  British  nation,  you 
would  tremble  at  the  foolish  audacity  of  your  pigmy  states. 
271 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Another  summer  will  bring  you  all  over  to  my  opinion. 
I  feel  for  the  miseries  hastening  on  my  countrymen,  but 
they  must  thank  their  own  folly.  God  bless  and  carry  you 
safe  through.  Your's 

JONATHAN  W.  SEWALL 
JOHN  FOXCROFT,  ESQ. 

The  first  President  moves  reluctantly  to  the  chair  of 
government     -'Qv      ^^v      -^^      ^QX     ^\>      xc> 

(To  Henry  Knox) 

MOUNT  VERNON,  i  April,  1789 

DEAR  SIR, 
The  mail  of  the  3oth  brought  me  your  favor  of  the 
23d,  by  which,  and  the  regular  information  you  have  had 
the  goodness  to  transmit  to  me  of  the  state  of  things  in 
New  York,  I  am  very  much  obliged,  and  thank  you 
accordingly. 

I  feel  for  those  members  of  the  new  Congress,  who 
hitherto  have  given  an  unavailing  attendance  at  the  theatre 
of  action.  For  myself  the  delay  may  be  compared  to  a 
reprieve ;  for  in  confidence  I  tell  you,  (with  the  world  it 
would  obtain  little  credit,)  that  my  movements  to  the 
chair  of  government  will  be  accompanied  by  feelings  not 
unlike  those  of  a  culprit,  who  is  going  to  the  place  of  his 
execution  ;  so  unwilling  am  I,  in  the  evening  of  a  life 
nearly  consumed  in  public  cares,  to  quit  a  peaceful  abode 
for  an  ocean  of  difficulties,  without  that  competency  of 
political  skill,  abilities,  and  inclination,  which  are  neces 
sary  to  manage  the  helm.  I  am  sensible  that  I  am  em 
barking  the  voice  of  the  people,  and  a  good  name  of  my 
own,  on  this  voyage  ;  but  what  returns  will  be  made  for 
them,  Heaven  alone  can  foretell.  Integrity  and  firmness 
are  all  I  can  promise.  These,  be  the  voyage  long  or 
272 


The  Folly  of  War 

short,  shall  never  forsake  me,  although  I  may  be  deserted 
by  all  men ;  for  of  the  consolations,  which  are  to  be 
derived  from  these,  under  any  circumstances,  the  world 
cannot  deprive  me.  .  .  . 

At  the  close  of  the  Revolution  Benjamin  Franklin  ad 
vocates  arbitration      x;^>      -"^v       ^^       x^      ^> 

(To  Mrs.  Hewson,  from  Passy,/<2#o  27,  1783) 

T  length  we  are  in  peace,  God  be  praised,  and 
long,  very  long  may  it  continue.  All  wars  are 
follies,  very  expensive,  and  very  mischievous  ones.  When 
will  mankind  be  convinced  of  this,  and  agree  to  settle  their 
differences  by  arbitration?  Were  they  to  do  it,  even  by 
the  cast  of  a  die,  it  would  be  better  than  by  fighting  and 
destroying  each  other.  ... 

Benjamin  Franklin  prefers  the  turkey  to  the  eagle  as 
the  emblem  of  the  country     xo>     ^^     -Qy     ^> 

(To  his  daughter,  from  Passy,/rt«.  26,  1784) 

T7OR  my  own  part,  I  wish  that  the  bald  eagle  had 
-!•  not  been  chosen  as  the  representative  of  our 
country ;  he  is  a  bird  of  bad  moral  character ;  he  does  not 
get  his  living  honestly.  .  .  .  With  all  this  injustice  he  is 
never  in  good  case ;  but,  like  those  among  men  who  live 
by  sharping  and  robbing,  he  is  generally  poor,  and  often 
very  lousy.  Besides  he  is  a  rank  coward ;  the  little  king 
bird,  not  bigger  than  a  sparrow,  attacks  him  boldly  and 
drives  him  out  of  the  district.  .  .  . 

I  am,  on  this  account,  not  displeased  that  the  figure  is 
not  known  as  a  bald  eagle,  but  looks  more  like  a  turkey. 
For,  in  truth,  the  turkey  is  in  comparison  a  much  more 
T  273 


The  Friendly  Craft 

respectable  bird,  and  withal  a  true  original  native  of 
America.  Eagles  have  been  found  in  all  countries,  but  the 
turkey  was  peculiar  to  ours.  ...  He  is,  besides,  (though 
a  little  vain  and  silly,  it  is  true,  but  not  the  worse  emblem 
for  that,)  a  bird  of  courage,  and  would  not  hesitate  to 
attack  a  grenadier  of  the  British  guards,  who  should 
presume  to  invade  his  farm-yard  with  a  red  coat  on.  .  .  . 


Three  letters  to  his  daughter  from  Aaron  Burr  in  prison 

I 
[RICHMOND,]  June  30,  1807 

myself  you  could  expect  to  -hear  nothing  new  ; 
yet  something  new  and  unexpected  was  moved 
yesterday.  The  counsel  for  the  prosecution  proposed  to 
the  court  that  Aaron  Burr  should  be  sent  to  the  peniten 
tiary  for  safe  keeping,  and  stated  that  the  governor  and 
council  had  offered  to  provide  me  with  an  apartment  in 
the  third  story  of  that  building.  This  is  extremely  kind 
and  obliging  in  the  governor  and  his  council.  The  dis 
tance,  however,  would  render  it  so  inconvenient  to  my 
counsel  to  visit  me,  that  I  should  prefer  to  remain  where 
I  am ;  yet  the  rooms  proposed  are  said  to  be  airy  and 
healthy.  .  .  . 


M 


II 

July  6,  1807 

"Y  friends  and  acquaintance  of  both  sexes  are 
permitted    to  visit   me    without   interruption, 
without  inquiring  their  business,  and  without  the  presence 
of  a  spy.     It  is  well  that  I  have   an  antechamber,  or   I 
should  often  be  gene  with  visiters. 
274 


Incapable  of  Humiliation 

If  you  come  I  can  give  you  a  bedroom  and  parlour  on 
this  floor.  The  bedroom  has  three  large  closets,  and  it  is 
a  much  more  commodious  one  than  you  ever  had  in  your 
life.  Remember,  no  agitations,  no  complaints,  no  fears 
or  anxieties  on  the  road,  or  I  renounce  thee.  .  .  . 


I 


Ill 

July  24,  1807 

WANT  an  independent  and  discerning  witness 
to  my  conduct  and  to  that  of  the  government. 
The  scenes  which  have  passed  and  those  about  to  be 
transacted  will  exceed  all  reasonable  credibility,  and  will 
hereafter  be  deemed  fables,  unless  attested  by  very  high 
authority. 

I  repeat  what  has  heretofore  been  written,  that  I  should 
never  invite  any  one,  much  less  those  so  dear  to  me,  to 
witness  my  disgrace.  I  may  be  immured  in  dungeons, 
chained,  murdered  in  legal  form,  but  I  cannot  be  humili 
ated  or  disgraced.  If  absent,  you  will  suffer  great  solici 
tude.  In  my  presence  you  will  feel  none,  whatever  may 
be  the  malice  or  the  power  of  my  enemies,  and  in  both 
they  abound.  .  .  . 

Mrs.  Madison  saves  the  portrait  of  Washington        *^y 

(To  Mrs.  Cutts) 

Tuesday,  August  23,  1814 

DEAR    SISTER, —  My    husband    left    me   yesterday 
morning    to  join   General    Winder.      He   inquired 
anxiously  whether  I  had  courage  or  firmness  to  remain  in 
the  President's  house  until  his  return  on  the  morrow,  or 
succeeding  day,  and  on  my  assurance  that  I  had  no  fear 
but  for  him,  and  the  success  of  our  army,  he  left,  beseech 
ing  me  to  take  care  of  myself,  and  of  the  Cabinet  papers, 
275 


The  Friendly  Craft 

public  and  private.  I  have  since  received  two  dispatches 
from  him,  written  in  pencil.  The  last  is  alarming,  because 
he  desires  I  should  be  ready  at  a  moment's  warning  to 
enter  my  carriage, "and  leave  the  city;  that  the  enemy 
seemed  stronger  than  had  at  first  been  reported,  and  it 
might  happen  that  they  would  reach  the  city  with  the  in 
tention  of  destroying  it.  I  am  accordingly  ready ;  I  have 
pressed  as' many  Cabinet  papers  into  trunks  as  to  fill  one 
carriage ;  our  private  property  must  be  sacrificed,  as  it  is 
impossible  to  procure  wagons  for  its  transportation.  I  am 
determined  not  to  go  myself  until  I  see  Mr.  Madison  safe, 
so  that  he  can  accompany  me,  as  I  hear  of  much  hostility 
towards  him.  Disaffection  stalks  around  us.  My  friends 
and  acquaintances  are  all  gone,  even  Colonel  C.  with  his 
hundred,  who  were  stationed  as  a  guard  in  this  inclosure. 
French  John  (a  faithful  'servant),  with  his  usual  activity 
and  resolution,  offers  to  spike  the  cannon  at  the  gate,  and 
lay  a  train  of  powder,  which  would  blow  up  the  British, 
should  they  enter  the  house.  To  the  last  proposition  I 
positively  object,  without  being  able  to  make  him  under 
stand  why  all  advantages  in  war  may  not  be  taken. 

Wednesday  morning,  twelve  o'clock.  —  Since  sunrise  I 
have  been  turning  my  spy-glass  in  every  direction,  aud 
watching  with  unwearied  anxiety,  hoping  to  discover  the 
approach  of  my  dear  husband  and  his  friends;  but,  alas! 
I  can  descry  only  groups  of  military,  wandering  in  all 
directions,  as  if  there  was  a  lack  of  arms,  or  of  spirit  to 
fight  for  their  own  fireside. 

Three  o"1  clock. —  Will  you  believe  it,  my  sister?  We 
have  had  a  battle,  or  skirmish,  near  Bladensburg,  and  here 
I  am  still,  within  sound  of  the  cannon!  Mr.  Madison 
comes  not.  May  God  protect  us!  Two  messengers, 
covered  with  dust,  come  to  bid  me  fly  ;  but  here  I  mean 
to  wait  for  him.  ...  At  this  late  hour  a  wagon  has  been 
276 


Great  Events 

procured,  and  I  have  had  it  filled  with  plate  and  the  most 
valuable  portable  articles,  belonging  to  the  house. 
Whether  it  will  reach  its  destination,  the  "  Bank  of 
Maryland,"  or  fall  into  the  hands  of  our  British  soldiery, 
events  must  determine.  Our  kind  friend,  Mr.  Carroll, 
has  come  to  hasten  my  departure,  and  in  a  very  bad  humor 
with  me,  because  I  insist  on  waiting  until  the  large  picture 
of  George  Washington  is  secured,  and  it  requires  to  be 
unscrewed  from  the  wall.  This  process  was  found  too 
tedious  for  these  perilous  moments  ;  I  have  ordered  the 
frame  to  be  broken,  and  the  canvas  taken  out.  It  is  done! 
and  the  precious  portrait  placed  in  the  hands  of  two 
gentlemen  of  New  York,  for  safe  keeping.  And  now, 
dear  sister,  I  must  leave  this  house  or  the  retreating  army 
will  make  me  a  prisoner  in  it  by  filling  up  the  road  I  am 
directed  to  take.  When  I  shall  again  write  to  you,  or 
where  I  shall  be  to-morrow,  I  cannot  tell! 

DOLLY 

Mrs.  Jackson  witnesses  the  occupation  of  Pensacola, 
and  laments  the  godlessness  of  the  Spanish       -<^v 

PENSACOLA,  23d////x,  1821 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND:  I  have  been  in  this  place  four 
weeks.  The  reason  I  have  denied  myself  the  pleas 
ure  of  writing  you  is  that  I  was  waiting  for  the  great  events 
which  have  taken  place  in  this  our  day.  O  that  I  had  the 
pen  of  a  ready  writer  that  I  might  give  you  the  correct  detail 
of  the  great  transaction,  but  it  is  as  follows.  We  having  a 
house  prepared  and  furnished,  the  General  advised  me  to 
move  down  and  remain  until  he  could  with  propriety  march 
in  with  the  fourth  regiment. 

Three  weeks  the  transports  were  bringing  the  Spanish 
troops  from  St.  Mark's  in  order  that  they  should  all  sail  to 
277 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Cuba  at  the  same  time.  At  length  they  arrived,  but  during 
all  this  time  the  Governor  of  this  place  and  the  General 
had  daily  communications,  yet  his  lordship  never  waited 
on  the  General  in  person.  After  the  vessels  returned  from 
St.  Mark's,  the  General  came  within  two  miles  of  Pensacola. 
They  were  then  one  week  finishing  the  preliminaries  and 
ceremonies  to  be  observed  on  the  day  of  his  entrance  into 
the  city.  At  length,  last  Tuesday  was  the  day.  At  seven 
o'clock,  at  the  precise  moment,  they  hove  in  view  under  the 
American  flag  and  a  full  band  of  music.  The  whole  town 
was  in  motion.  Never  did  I  see  so  many  pale  faces.  I  am 
living  on  Main  street,  which  gave  me  an  opportunity  of  see 
ing  a  great  deal  from  the  upper  galleries.  They  marched 
by  to  the  government  house,  where  the  two  Generals  met 
in  the  manner  prescribed,  then  his  Catholic  majesty's  flag 
was  lowered,  and  the  American  hoisted  high  in  air,  not  less 
than  one  hundred  feet. 

O  how  they  burst  into  tears  to  see  the  last  ray  of  hope 
departed  of  their  devoted  city  and  country  —  delivering  up 
the  keys  of  the  archives,  the  vessels  lying  at  anchor,  in  full 
view,  to  waft  them  to  their  distant  port.  Next  morning 
they  set  sail  under  convoy  of  the  Hornet,  sloop  of  war, 
Anne  Maria,  and  the  Tom  Shields.  How  did  the  city  sit 
solitary  and  mourn.  Never  did  my  heart  feel  more  for  any 
people.  Being  present,  I  entered  immediately  into  their 
feelings.  Their  manners,  laws,  customs,  all  changed,  and 
really  a  change  was  necessary.  My  pen  almost  drops  from 
my  hand,  the  effort  is  so  far  short,  so  limited  to  what  it 
might  be. 

Three  Sabbaths  I  spent  in  this  house  before  the  country 
was  in  possession  under  American  government.  In  all 
that  time  I  was  not  an  idle  spectator.  The  Sabbath  pro 
fanely  kept;  a  great  deal  of  noise  and  swearing  in  the 
streets ;  shops  kept  open ;  trade  going  on,  I  think,  more 
278 


The  Redoubtable  General 

than  on  any  other  day.  They  were  so  boisterous  on  that 
day  I  sent  Major  Stanton  to  say  to  them  that  the  approach 
ing  Sunday  would  be  differently  kept.  And  must  I  say  the 
worst  people  here  are  the  cast-out  Americans  and  negroes  ! 
Yesterday  I  had  the  happiness  of  witnessing  the  truth  of 
what  I  had  said.  Great  order  was  observed  ;  the  doors 
kept  shut  ;  the  gambling  houses  demolished  ;  fiddling  and 
dancing  not  heard  any  more  on  the  Lord's  day  ;  cursing 
not  to  be  heard. 

What,  what  has  been  done  in  one  week  !  A  province 
delivered  to  the  American  people  ;  the  laws  of  the  land  we 
.ive  in  they  are  now  under. 

You  can't  conceive  what  an  important,  arduous,  labori 
ous  work  it  has  been  and  is.  I  had  no  idea  of  it  until 
daily  it  unfolded  the  mystery  to  view.  I  am  convinced 
that  no  mortal  man  could  do  this  and  suffer  so  many  pri 
vations,  unless  the  God  of  our  salvation  was  his  help  in 
every  time  of  trouble.  While  the  General  was  in  camp, 
fourteen  miles  from  Pensacola,  he  was  very  sick.  I  went 
to  see  him,  and  to  try  to  persuade  him  to  come  to  his 
house.  But,  no.  All  his  friends  tried.  He  said  that 
when  he  came  in  it  should  be  under  his  own  standard,  and 
that  would  be  the  third  time  he  had  planted  that  flag  on 
that  wall.  And  he  has  done  so.  O  how  solemn  was  his 
pale  countenence  when  he  dismounted  from  his  horse. 
Recollections  of  perils  and  scenes  of  war  not  to  be  dis 
severed  presented  themselves  to  view. 

There  are  no  shouts  of  joy  or  exultation  heard ;  but,  on 
the  contrary,  we  sympathized  with  this  people.  Still,  I 
think,  the  Lord  had  a  controversy  with  them.  They  were 
living  far  from  God.  If  they  would  have  the  gospel  of 
Jesus  and  his  apostles,  it  would  have  been  otherwise,  but 
they  would  not.  The  field  is  white  for  harvest,  but  where 
are  the  laborers?  Not  one.  Oh,  for  one  of  our  faithful 
279 


The  Friendly  Craft 

ministers  to  come  and  impart  the  word  of  life  to  them.  I 
have  heard  but  one  gospel  sermon  since  we  left  home. 
But  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth.  He  is  my  shield. 
I  shall  not  want.  He  will  not  leave  me  nor  forsake  me  in 
all  my  trials  through  this  wilderness.  Oh,  pray  for  me  ;  I 
have  need  of  that  aid  from  my  dear  Christian  friends. 

.  .  .  The  inhabitants  all  speak  Spanish  and  French. 
Some  speak  four  or  five  languages.  Such  a  mixed  mul 
titude,  you,  nor  any  of  us,  ever  had  an  idea  of.  There  are 
fewer  white  people  far  than  any  other,  mixed  with  all 
nations  under  the  canopy  of  heaven,  almost  in  nature's 
darkness.  But,  thanks  to  the  Lord  that  has  put  grace  in 
this  his  servant  to  issue  his  proclamation  in  a  language  they 
all  understand,  I  think  the  sanctuary  is  about  to  be  purged 
for  a  minister  of  the  gospel  to  come  over  to  the  help  of  the 
Lord  in  this  dark  region. 

There  is  a  Catholic  church  in  the  place,  and  the  priest 
seems  a  divine  looking  man.  He  comes  to  see  us.  He 
dined  with  us  yesterday,  the  Governor,  and  Secretary, 
French,  Spanish,  American  ladies,  and  all.  I  have  as 
pleasant  a  house  as  any  in  town. 

.  .  .  My  dear  .husband  is,  I  think,  not  any  the  better  as 
to  his  health.  He  has  indeed  performed  a  great  work  in 
his  day.  Had  I  heard  by  the  hearing  of  the  ear  I  could 
not  have  believed. 

Have  we  all  gone  from  you  so  far  that  no  intelligence 
can  reach  our  place  of  destination?  There  is  no  mail, 
no  post-office  here.  All  these  inconveniences  will  be 
remedied  shortly.  Miss  Grage  received  a  letter  from  Mrs. 
Berryhill,  wherein  she  states  the  illness  of  Mr.  Campbell 
and  several  others  in  Nashville,  but  some  pleasing  news  of 
the  church.  Oh,  for  Zion!  I  am  not  at  rest,  nor  can  I 
be,  in  a  heathen  land.  .  .  .  How  happy  and  thankful 
should  you  be  in  a  land  of  gospel  light  and  liberty. 
280 


Meeting  on  the  Stairs 

Oh,  rejoice  and  be  glad,  far  more  it  is  to  be  desired  than 
all  the  honor  and  riches  in  this  vain  world.  Farewell,  my 
dear  friend,  and  should  the  great  Arbiter  of  fate  order  his 
servant  not  to  see  her  kindred  and  friends  again,  I  hope 
to  meet  you  in  the  realms  of  everlasting  bliss.  Then  I 
shall  weep  no  more  at  parting. 

Do  not  be  uneasy  for  me.     "  Although  the  vine  yield  no 
fruit,  and  the  olive  no  oil,  yet  will  I  serve  the  Lord.'1 
Adieu,  adieu, 

RACHEL  JACKSON 

MRS.  ELIZABETH  KINGSLEY 

Say  to  Mr.  K.  Andrew  is  learning  Spanish. 

She  finds  Washington  not  much  more  pious      <^y  *o 
(To  Mrs.  Kingsley,  Dec.  23,  1824) 

.  .  .  A  I HHE  present  moment  is  the  first  I  can  call  my 
J-  own  since  my  arrival  in  this  great  city.  Our 
journey  [from  Nashville,  Term.],  indeed,  was  fatiguing. 
We  were  twenty-seven  days  on  the  road,  but  no  accident 
happened  to  us.  My  dear  husband  is  in  better  health 
than  when  we  came.  We  are  boarding  in  the  same  house 
with  the  nation's  guest,  Lafayette.  I  am  delighted  with 
him.  All  the  attentions,  all  the  parties  he  goes  to,  never 
appear  to  have  any  effect  on  him.  In  fact,  he  is  an  extra 
ordinary  man.  He  has  a  happy  talent  of  knowing  those 
he  has  once  seen.  For  instance,  when  we  first  came  to 
this  house,  the  General  said  he  would  go  and  pay  the 
Marquis  the  first  visit.  Both  having  the  same  desire,  and 
at  the  same  time,  they  met  on  the  entry  of  the  stairs.  It 
was  truly  interesting.  The  emotion  of  revolutionary 
feeling  was  aroused  in  them  both.  At  Charleston,  General 
Jackson  saw  him  on  the  field  of  battle ;  the  one  a  boy 
of  twelve,  the  Marquis,  twenty-three.  He  wears  a  wig, 
281 


The   Friendly  Craft 

and  is  a  little  inclined  to  corpulency.  He  is  very  healthy, 
eats  hearty,  goes  to  every  party,  and  that  is  every  night. 

To  tell  you  of  this  city,  I  would  not  do  justice  to  the 
subject.  The  extravagance  is  in  dressing  and  running  to 
parties ;  but  I  must  say  they  regard  the  Sabbath,  and 
attend  preaching,  for  there  are  churches  of  every  denomi 
nation  and  able  ministers  of  the  gospel.  We  have  been 
here  two  Sabbaths.  The  General  and  myself  were  both 
days  at  church.  Mr.  Baker  is  the  pastor  of  the  church  we 
go  to.  He  is  a  fine  man,  a  plain,  good  preacher.  We 
were  waited  on  by  two  of  Mr.  Balche's  elders,  inviting  us 
to  take  a  pew  in  his  church  in  Georgetown,  but  previous 
to  that  I  had  an  invitation  to  the  other.  General  Cole, 
Mary,  Emily,  and  Andrew  went  to  the  Episcopal  church. 

Oh,  my  dear  friend,  how  shall  I  get  through  this  bustle. 
There  are  not  less  than  from  fifty  to  one  hundred  persons 
calling  in  a  day.  My  dear  husband  was  unwell  nearly  the 
whole  of  our  journey,  but,  thanks  to  our  Heavenly  Father, 
his  health  is  improving.  Still  his  appetite  is  delicate,  and 
company  and  business  are  oppressive;  but  I  look  unto  the 
Lord,  from  whence  comes  all  my  comforts.  I  have  the 
precious  promise,  and  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth. 

Don't  be  afraid  of  my  giving  way  to  those  vain  things. 
The  apostle  says,  I  can  do  all  things  in  Christ,  who 
strengtheneth  me.  The  play-actors  sent  me  a  letter, 
requesting  my  countenance  to  them.  No.  A  ticket  to 
balls  and  parties.  No,  not  one.  Two  dinings ;  several 
times  to  drink  tea.  Indeed,  Mr.  Jackson  encourages 
me  in  my  course.  He  recommends  it  to  me  to  be  stead 
fast.  I  am  going  to-day  to  hear  Mr.  Summerfield.  He 
preaches  in  the  Methodist  church  ;  a  very  highly  spoken 
of  minister.  Glory  to  God  for  the  privilege.  Not  a  day 
or  night  but  there  is  the  church  opened  for  prayer.  .  .  . 


A   Majestic  Spectacle 

Mrs.  Samuel  Harrison  Smith  describes  Andrew  Jack 
son's  inauguration,  with  varying  opinions  as  to 
the  majesty  of  the  people  ^>  ^>  ^x  ^> 

(To  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick) 
[WASHINGTON,]  March  nth,  Sunday  [1829] 

.  .  .  'T^HURSDAY  morning.  I  left  the  rest  of  this 
J-  sheet  for  an  account  of  the  inauguration.  It 
was  not  a  thing  of  detail  of  a  succession  of  small  inci 
dents.  No,  it  was  one  grand  whole,  an  imposing  and 
majestic  spectacle  and  to  a  reflective  mind  one  of  moral 
sublimity.  Thousands  and  thousands  of  people,  without 
distinction  of  rank,  collected  in  an  immense  mass  round 
the  Capitol,  silent,  orderly  and  tranquil,  with  their  eyes 
fixed  on  the  front  of  that  edifice,  waiting  the  appearance 
of  the  President  in  the  portico.  The  door  from  the 
Rotunda  opens,  preceded  by  the  marshals,  surrounded  by 
the  Judges  of  the  Supreme  Court,  the  old  man  with  his 
grey  locks,  that  crown  of  glory,  advances,  bows  to  the 
people,  who  greet  him  with  a  shout  that  rends  the  air, 
the  Canons,  from  the  heights  round,  from  Alexandria  and 
Fort  Warburton  proclaim  the  oath  he  has  taken  and  all 
the  hills  reverberate  the  sound.  It  was  grand,  —  it  was 
sublime !  An  almost  breathless  silence  succeeded,  and 
the  multitude  was  still,  —  listening  to  catch  the  sound  of 
his  voice,  tho1  it  was  so  low,  as  to  be  heard  only  by  those 
nearest  to  him.  After  reading  his  speech,  the  oath  was 
administered  to  him  by  the  Chief  Justice.  The  Marshal 
presented  the  Bible.  The  President  took  it  from  his 
hands,  pressed  his  lips  to  it,  laid  it  reverently  down,  then 
bowed  again  to  the  people  —  Yes,  to  the  people  in  all  their 
majesty.  And  had  the  spectacle  closed  here,  even  Euro 
peans  must  have  acknowledged  that  a  free  people,  collected 
283 


The  Friendly  Craft 

in  their  might,  silent  and  tranquil,  restrained  solely  by  a 
moral  power,  without  a  shadow  around  of  military  force, 
was  majesty,  rising  to  sublimity,  and  far  surpassing  the 
majesty  of  Kings  and  Princes,  surrounded  with  armies  and 
glittering  in  gold.  But  I  will  not  anticipate,  but  will  give 
you  an  account  of  the  inauguration  in  mere  detail.  .  .  . 

A  national  salute  was  fired  early  in  the  morning,  and 
ushered  in  the  4th  of  March.  By  ten  o'clock  the  Avenue 
was  crowded  with  carriages  of  every  description,  from  the 
splendid  Barronet  and  coach,  down  to  waggons  and  carts, 
filled  with  women  and  children,  some  in  finery  and  some 
in  rags,  for  it  was  the  peoples  President,  and  all  would  see 
him.  .  .  . 

We  stood  on  the  South  steps  of  the  terrace ;  when  the 
appointed  hour  came  saw  the  General  and  his  company 
advancing  up  the  Avenue,  slow,  very  slow,  so  impeded  was 
his  march  by  the  crowds  thronging  around  him.  Even 
from  a  distance,  he  could  be  discerned  from  those  who 
accompanied  him,  for  he  only  was  uncovered,  (the  Servant 
in  presence  of  his  Sovereign,  the  People).  The  south 
side  of  the  Capitol  hill  was  literally  alive  with  the  multi 
tude,  who  stood  ready  to  receive  the  hero  and  the  multitude 
who  attended  him.  "  There,  there,  that  is  he,"  exclaimed 
different  voices.  "  Which  ?  "  asked  others.  "  He  with  the 
white  head,"  was  the  reply.  "Ah,"  exclaimed  others, 
"  there  is  the  old  man  and  his  gray  hair,  there  is  the  old 
veteran,  there  is  Jackson."  At  last  he  enters  the  gate  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill  and  turns  to  the  road  that  leads  round 
to  the  front  of  the  Capitol.  In  a  moment  every  one  who 
until  then  had  stood  like  statues  gazing  on  the  scene  below 
them,  rushed  onward,  to  right,  to  left,  to  be  ready  to  receive 
him  in  front.  Our  party,  of  course,  were  more  deliberate, 
we  waited  until  the  multitude  had  rushed  past  us  and  then 
left  the  terrace  and  walked  round  to  the  furthest  side  of 
284 


Beautiful  and  Sublime 

the  square,  where  there  were  no  carriages  to  impede  us, 
and  entered  it  by  the  gate  fronting  the  Capitol.  Here  was 
a  clear  space,  and  stationing  ourselves  on  the  central  gravel 
walk  we  stood  so  as  to  have  a  clear,  full  view  of  the  whole 
scene.  The  Capitol  in  all  its  grandeur  and  beauty.  The 
Portico  and  grand  steps  leading  to  it  were  filled  with 
ladies.  Scarlet,  purple,  blue,  yellow,  white  draperies  and 
waving  plumes  of  every  kind  and  colour,  among  the  white 
marble  pillars,  had  a  fine  effect.  In  the  centre  of  the  por 
tico  was  a  table  covered  with  scarlet,  behind  it  the  closed 
door  leading  into  the  rotunda,  below  the  Capitol  and  all 
around,  a  mass  of  living  beings,  not  a  ragged  mob,  but 
well  dressed  and  well  behaved  respectable  and  worthy 
citizens.  Mr.  Frank  Key,  whose  arm  I  had,  and  an  old 
and  frequent  witness  of  great  spectacles,  often  exclaimed, 
as  well  as  myself,  a  mere  novice,  "  It  is  beautiful,  it  is  sub 
lime  ! "  The  sun  had  been  obscured  through  the  morning 
by  a  mist,  or  haziness.  But  the  concussion  in  the  air, 
produced  by  the  discharge  of  the  canon,  dispersed  it  and 
the  sun  shone  forth  in  all  his  brightness.  At  the  moment 
the  General  entered  the  Portico  and  advanced  to  the 
table,  the  shout  that  rent  the  air,  still  resounds  in  my  ears. 
When  the  speech  was  over,  and  the  President  made  his 
parting  bow,  the  barrier  that  had  separated  the  people  from 
him  was  broken  down  and  they  rushed  up  the  steps  all 
eager  to  shake  hands  with  him.  It  was  with  difficulty  he 
made  his  way  through  the  Capitol  and  down  the  hill  to  the 
gateway  that  opens  on  the  avenue.  Here  for  a  moment  he 
was  stopped.  The  living  mass  was  impenetrable.  After 
a  while  a  passage  was  opened,  and  he  mounted  his  horse 
which  had  been  provided  for  his  return  (for  he  had 
walked  to  the  Capitol)  then  such  a  cortege  as  followed 
him !  Country  men,  farmers,  gentlemen,  mounted  and 
dismounted,  boys,  women  and  children,  black  and  white. 
285 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Carriages,  wagons  and  carts  all  pursuing  him  to  the  Presi 
dent's  house,  —  this  I  only  heard  of  for  our  party  went  out 
at  the  opposite  side  of  the  square  and  went  to  Col.  Ben- 
ton's  lodgings,  to  visit  Mrs.  Benton  and  Mrs.  Gilmore. 
.  .  .  Some  one  came  and  informed  us  the  crowd  before 
the  President's  house  was  so  far  lessened,  that  they  thought 
we  might  enter.  This  time  we  effected  our  purpose.  But 
what  a  scene  did  we  witness  !  The  Majesty  of  the  People 
had  disappeared,  and  a  rabble,  a  mob,  of  boys,  negroes, 
women,  children,  scrambling  fighting,  romping.  What  a 
pity  what  a  pity!  No  arrangements  had  been  made  no 
police  officers  placed  on  duty  and  the  whole  house  had 
been  inundated  by  the  rabble  mob.  We  came  too  late. 
The  President,  after  having  been  literally  nearly  pressed 
to  death  and  almost  suffocated  and  torn  to  pieces  by  the 
people  in  their  eagerness  to  shake  hands  with  Old  Hickory, 
had  retreated  through  the  back  way  or  south  front  and  had 
escaped  to  his  lodgings  at  Gadsby's.  Cut  glass  and  china 
to  the  amount  of  several  thousand  dollars  had  been  broken 
in  the  struggle  to  get  the  refreshments,  punch  and  other 
articles  had  been  carried  out  in  tubs  and  buckets,  but  had 
it  been  in  hogsheads  it  would  have  been  insufficient,  ice 
cream  and  cake  and  lemonade,  for  20,000  people,  for  it  is 
said  that  number  were  there,  tho1  I  think  the  estimate 
exaggerated.  Ladies  fainted,  men  were  seen  with  bloody 
noses  and  such  a  scene  of  confusion  took  place  as  is  impos 
sible  to  describe,  —  those  who  got  in  could  not  get  out  by 
the  door  again,  but  had  to  scramble  out  of  windows.  At 
one  time,  the  President  who  had  retreated  and  retreated 
until  he  was  pressed  against  the  wall,  could  only  be  secured 
by  a  number  of  gentlemen  forming  round  him  and  making 
a  kind  of  barrier  of  their  own  bodies,  and  the  pressure  was 
so  great  that  Col  Bomford  who  was  one  said  that  at  one 
time  he  was  afraid  they  should  have  been  pushed  down,  or 
286 


The  Rule  of  the   People 

on  the  President.  It  was  then  the  windows  were  thrown 
open,  and  the  torrent  found  an  outlet,  which  otherwise 
might  have  proved  fatal. 

This  concourse  had  not  been  anticipated  and  therefore 
not  provided  against.  Ladies  and  gentleman,  only  had 
been  expected  at  this  Levee,  not  the  people  en  masse. 
But  it  was  the  People's  day,  and  the  People's  President 
and  the  People  would  rule.  God  grant  that  one  day  or 
other,  the  People  do  not  put  down  all  rule  and  rulers.  .  .  . 

Thumb-nail  sketches  of  the  Abolitionists         ^>      -o> 
(Miss  Sallie  Holley  to  the  Misses  Porter) 

BOSTON,  Jan.  31,  1861 

.  .  .  npHESE  dreadful  times  of  mobs  are  thought  to  be 
-JL  the  last  struggle  of  the  slave-power  in  the  North, 
and  it  remains  for  time  to  prove  whether  such  a  precious 
life  as  that  of  Wendell  Phillips  is  to  be  given  up  to  satisfy 
the  millions  of  slavery.  God  grant  that  such  a  costly  sac 
rifice  may  be  spared.  I  wish  that  you  could  have  been  with 
us  on  that  sublime  occasion  when  the  hosts  of  abolition 
ists  sat  looking  danger  and  violence  in  the  face  as  serenely 
as  if  the  light  of  Eternity's  morning  had  dawned  on  their 
souls.  I  think  it  was  worth  living  a  great  many  years  to  be 
present  at  the  meeting  in  Tremont  Temple  last  Thursday 
morning.  I  may  never  live  to  witness  another  day  so  great 
as  that  was  in  courage,  devotion,  and  fidelity  to  principle. 
The  platform  was  crowded  with  the  faithful  and  true  — 
many  a  tried  soldier  in  Freedom's  long  battle :  Francis 
Jackson  to  preside,  Edmund  Quincy  to  aid;  Mr.  Phillips, 
like  a  conquering  angel,  with  wit  and  wisdom  on  his 
tongue,  and  beauty  and  honour  on  his  head ;  James  Free 
man  Clarke,  glorious  in  speech  and  action ;  Ralph  Waldo 
287 


The  Friendly   Craft 

Emerson,  serene  as  the  sphinx  of  six  thousand  years  ago ; 
Samuel  J.  May,  reading  the  Ninety-fourth  Psalm,  that 
seemed  to  come  from  the  prophet's  pen  of  to-day ;  Mrs. 
Lydia  Maria  Child,  as  full  of  enthusiasm  as  she  could  ex 
press  by  flashing  eye,  glowing  cheek,  and  waving  hand 
kerchief,  as  she  sat  by  the  organ  on  the  highest  seat  of 
the  platform,  making  everybody  glad  by  her  presence ; 
Mrs.  Maria  Chapman,  sitting  with  the  calm  dignity  of  a 
queen,  her  sister  and  daughter  beside  her ;  T.  W.  Higgin- 
son,  ready  with  brilliant  eloquence  of  tongue  or  with  the 
revolver's  bullet  —  so  it  was  said  —  to  do  battle  for  free 
speech  that  day ;  William  I.  Bowditch,  with  his  venerable 
and  dignified  mien,  looked  quite  distinguished  among  them 
all.  Once  when  he  took  his  place  at  the  front  of  the  plat 
form,  the  mob  called  out,  "There  comes  the  old  bald 
eagle!"  and  well  may  the  little  insignificant  mice  & 
weasles  look  out  when  such  a  glance  is  abroad.  .  .  . 

Colonel  Lee  resigns  from  the  United  States  Army    ^> 

I 
(To  General  Winfield  Scott) 

ARLINGTON,  VIRGINIA,  April  20,  1861 

GENERAL:  Since  my  interview  with  you  on  the  i8th 
inst.  I  have  felt  that  I  ought  no  longer  to  retain  my 
commission  in  the  Army.  I  therefore  tender  my  resigna 
tion,  which  I  request  you  will  recommend  for  acceptance. 
It  would  have  been  presented  at  once  but  for  the  struggle 
it  has  cost  me  to  separate  myself  from  a  service  to  which  I 
have  devoted  the  best  years  of  my  life,  and  all  the  ability 
I  possessed. 

During  the  whole  of  that  time  —  more  than  a  quarter  of 
a  century —  I  have  experienced  nothing  but  kindness  from 
288 


The  State  First 

my  superiors  and  a  most  cordial  friendship  from  my  com 
rades.  To  no  one,  General,  have  I  been  as  much  indebted 
as  to  yourself  for  uniform  kindness  and  consideration,  and 
it  has  always  been  my  ardent  desire  to  merit  your  appro 
bation.  I  shall  carry  to  the  grave  the  most  grateful  recol 
lections  of  your  kind  consideration,  and  your  name  and 
fame  shall  always  be  dear  to  me. 

Save  in  the  defense  of  my  native  State,  I  never  desire 
again  to  draw  my  sword. 

Be  pleased  to  accept  my  most  earnest  wishes  for  the 
continuance  of  your  happiness  and  prosperity,  and  believe 
me  most  truly  yours, 

R.  E.  LEE 
II 

(To  Mrs.  Anne  Marshall) 
ARLINGTON,  VIRGINIA,  April  20,  1861 

MY  DEAR  SISTER  :  I  am  grieved  at  my  inability  to 
see  you.  .  .  .  I  have  been  waiting  for  a  "more  con 
venient  season,11  which  has  brought  to  many  before  me  deep 
and  lasting  regret.  Now  we  are  in  a  state  of  war  which  will 
yield  to  nothing.  The  whole  South  is  in  a  state  of  revolu 
tion,  into  which  Virginia,  after  a  long  struggle,  has  been 
drawn ;  and  though  I  recognize  no  necessity  for  this  state 
of  things,  and  would  have  forborne  and  pleaded  to  the  end 
for  redress  of  grievances,  real  or  supposed,  yet  in  my  own 
person  I  had  to  meet  the  question  whether  I  should  take 
part  against  my  native  State. 

With  all  my  devotion  to  the  Union  and  the  feeling  of 
loyalty  and  duty  of  an  American  citizen,  I  have  not  been 
able  to  make  up  my  mind  to  raise  my  hand  against  my 
relatives,  my  children,  my  home.  I  have  therefore  re 
signed  my  commission  in  the  Army,  and  save  in  defense  of 
my  native  State,  with  the  sincere  hope  that  my  poor  ser- 
u  289 


The  Friendly  Craft 

vices  may  never  be  needed,  I  hope  I  may  never  be  called  on 
to  draw  my  sword.  I  know  you  will  blame  me ;  but  you 
must  think  as  kindly  of  me  as  you  can,  and  believe  that  I 
have  endeavoured  to  do  what  I  thought  right. 

To  show  you  the  feeling  and  struggle  it  has  cost  me,  I 
send  you  a  copy  of  my  letter  of  resignation,  I  have  no  time 
for  more.  May  God  guard  and  protect  you  and  yours,  and 
shower  upon  you  everlasting  blessings,  is  the  prayer  of  your 
devoted  brother,  R.  E.  LEE 

Horace    Greeley   loses  his   nerve   and   writes  to  the 
President  ^^      ^^      <^<     ^>     -^     ^» 

NEW  YORK,  Monday,  July  29,  1861.     Midnight 

DEAR  SIR:  This  is  my  seventh  sleepless  night  — 
yours,  too,  doubtless — yet  I  think  I  shall  not  die, 
because  I  have  no  right  to  die.  I  must  struggle  to  live, 
however  bitterly.  But  to  business.  You  are  not  con 
sidered  a  great  man,  and  I  am  a  hopelessly  broken  one. 
You  are  now  undergoing  a  terrible  ordeal,  and  God  has 
thrown  the  gravest  responsibilities  upon  you.  Do  not  fear 
to  meet  them.  Can  the  rebels  be  beaten  after  all  that  has 
occurred,  and  in  view  of  the  actual  state  of  feeling  caused 
by  our  late  awful  disaster?  If  they  can  —  and  it  is  your 
business  to  ascertain  and  decide  —  \vrite  me  that  such  is 
your  judgment,  so  that  I  may  know  and  do  my  duty.  And 
if  they  can  not  be  beaten  —  if  our  recent  disaster  is  fatal  — 
do  not  fear  to  sacrifice  yourself  to  your  country.  If  the 
rebels  are  not  to  be  beaten  —  if  that  is  your  judgment  in 
view  of  all  the  light  you  can  get  —  then  every  drop  of  blood 
henceforth  shed  in  this  quarrel  will  be  wantonly,  wickedly 
shed,  and  the  guilt  will  rest  heavily  on  the  soul  of  every 
promoter  of  the  crime.  I  pray  you  to  decide  quickly,  and 
let  me  know  my  duty. 

290 


Black  Despair 

If  the  Union  is  irrevocably  gone,  an  armistice  for  thirty, 
sixty,  ninety,  one  hundred  and  twenty  days  —  better  still 
for  a  year — ought  at  once  to  be  proposed  with  a  view  to  a 
peaceful  adjustment.  Then  Congress  should  call  a  national 
convention,  to  meet  at  the  earliest  possible  day.  And  there 
should  be  an  immediate  and  mutual  exchange  or  release  of 
prisoners  and  a  disbandment  offerees.  I  do  not  consider 
myself  at  present  a  judge  of  anything  but  the  public  senti 
ment.  That  seems  to  me  everywhere  gathering  and 
deepening  against  a  prosecution  of  the  war.  The  gloom 
in  this  city  is  funereal  —  for  our  dead  at  Bull  Run  were 
many,  and  they  lie  unburied  yet.  On  every  brow  sits  sullen, 
scorching,  black  despair.  It  would  be  easy  to  have  Mr. 
Crittenden  move  any  proposition  that  ought  to  be  adopted, 
or  to  have  it  come  from  any  proper  quarter.  The  first 
point  is  to  ascertain  what  is  best  that  can  be  done  —  which 
is  the  measure  of  our  duty  —  and  do  that  very  thing  at  the 
earliest  moment. 

This  letter  is  written  in  the  strictest  confidence,  and  is 
for  your  eye  alone.  But  you  are  at  liberty  to  say  to  mem 
bers  of  your  Cabinet  that  you  know  I  will  second  any 
movement  you  may  see  fit  to  make.  But  do  nothing  timidly 
nor  by  halves.  Send  me  word  What  to  do.  I  will  live  till 
I  can  hear  it,  at  all  events.  If  it  is  best  for  the  country  and 
mankind  that  we  make  peace  with  the  rebels  at  once,  and 
on  their  own  terms,  do  not  shrink  even  from  that.  But 
bear  in  mind  the  greatest  truth  :  "  Whoso  would  lose  his 
life  for  my  sake  shall  save  it."  Do  the  thing  that  is  the 
highest  right,  and  tell  me  how  I  am  to  second  you. 
Yours,  in  the  depth  of  bitterness, 

HORACE  GREELEY 

Reprinted  from  Linn's  "  Horace  Greeley  "   Copyright,  1903,  by  D.  Appleton 
&Co. 


29I 


The   Friendly  Craft 

The  paramount  object  —  to  save  the  Union     ^^     ^> 
EXECUTIVE  MANSION,  WASHINGTON,  August  22,  1862 

HON.  HORACE  GREELEY. 
Dear  Sir  :  I  have  just  read  yours  of  the  igth,  ad 
dressed  to  myself  through  the  New  York  "  Tribune."  If 
there  be  in  it  any  statements  or  assumptions  of  fact  which 
I  may  know  to  be  erroneous,  I  do  not,  now  and  here, 
controvert  them.  If  there  be  in  it  any  inferences  which 
I  may  believe  to  be  falsely  drawn,  I  do  not,  now  and  here, 
argue  against  them.  If  there  be  perceptible  in  it  an  im 
patient  and  dictatorial  tone,  I  waive  it  in  deference  to  an 
old  friend  whose  heart  I  have  always  supposed  to  be 
right. 

As  to  the  policy  I  "seem  to  be  pursuing,"  as  you  say, 
I  have  not  meant  to  leave  any  one  in  doubt. 

I  would  save  the  Union.  I  would  save  it  the  shortest 
way  under  the  Constitution.  The  sooner  the  national 
authority  can  be  restored,  the  nearer  the  Union  will  be 
"  the  Union  as  it  was."  If  there  be  those  who  would  not 
save  the  Union  unless  they  could  at  the  same  time  save 
slavery,  I  do  not  agree  with  them.  If  there  be  those  who 
would  not  save  the  Union  unless  they  could  at  the  same 
time  destroy  slavery,  I  do  not  agree  with  them.  My  para 
mount  object  in  this  struggle  is  to  save  the  Union,  and  is 
not  either  to  save  or  to  destroy  slavery.  If  I  could  save 
the  Union  without  freeing  any  slave,  I  would  do  it  ;  and 
if  I  could  save  it  by  freeing  all  the  slaves,  I  would  do  it  ; 
and  if  I  could  save  it  by  freeing  some  and  leaving  others 
alone,  I  would  also  do  that.  What  I  do  about  slavery  and 
the  colored  race,  I  do  because  I  believe  it  helps  to  save 
the  Union  ;  and  what  I  forbear,  I  forbear  because  I  do 
not  believe  it  would  help  to  save  the  Union.  I  shall  do 
less  whenever  I  shall  believe  what  I  am  doing  hurts  the 
292  • 


One  Purpose 

cause,  and  I  shall  do  more  whenever  I  shall  believe  doing 
more  will  help  the  cause.  I  shall  try  to  correct  errors 
when  shown  to  be  errors,  and  I  shall  adopt  new  views  so 
fast  as  they  shall  appear  to  be  true  views. 

I  have  here  stated  my  purpose  according  to  my  view 
of  official  duty ;  and  I  intend  no  modification  of  my  oft- 
expressed  personal  wish  that  all  men  everywhere  could 
be  free. 

Yours,  A.  LINCOLN 

A  bread  riot  in  the  capital  of  the  Confederacy  ^^ 
(To  Mrs.  Roger  A.  Pryor,  from  Richmond,  April  4,  1863) 

MY  DEAR  :  I  hope  you  appreciate  the  fact  that  you 
are  herewith  honored  with  a  letter  written  in  royal- 
red  ink  upon  sumptuous  gilt-edged  paper.  There  is  not, 
at  the  present  writing,  one  inch  of  paper  for  sale  in  the 
capital  of  the  Confederacy,  at  all  within  the  humble  means 
of  the  wife  of  a  Confederate  officer.  Well  is  it  for  her  — 
and  I  hope  for  you  —  that  her  youthful  admirers  were 
few,  and  so  her  gorgeous  cream -and-gold  album  was  only 
half  filled  with  tender  effusions.  Out  come  the  blank 
leaves,  to  be  divided  between  her  friend  and  her  Colonel. 
Don't  be  alarmed  at  the  color  of  the  writing.  I  have  not 
yet  dipped  my  goose-quill  (there  are  no  steel  pens)  in  the 
"  ruddy  drops  that  visit  my  sad  heart,"  nor  yet  into  good 
orthodox  red  ink.  There  are  fine  oaks  in  the  country, 
and  that  noble  tree  bears  a  gall-nut  filled  with  crimson 
sap.  One  lies  on  my  table,  and  into  its  sanguinary  heart 
I  plunge  my  pen. 

Something  very  sad  has  just  happened  in  Richmond  — 

something  that  makes   me  ashamed  of  all   my  jeremiads 

over  the  loss  of  the  pretty  comforts  and  conveniences  of 

life  —  hats,  bonnets,  gowns,  stationery,  books,  magazines, 

293 


The  Friendly  Craft 

dainty  food.  Since  the  weather  has  been  so  pleasant,  I 
have  been  in  the  habit  of  walking  in  the  Capitol  Square 
before  breakfast  every  morning.  Somehow  nothing  so 
sets  me  up  after  a  restless  night  as  a  glimpse  of  the  dande 
lions  waking  up  from  their  dewy  bed  and  the  songs  of  the 
birds  in  the  Park.  Yesterday,  upon  arriving,  I  found 
within  the  gates  a  crowd  of  women  and  boys  —  several 
hundred  of  them,  standing  quietly  together.  I  sat  on  a 
bench  near,  and  one  of  the  number  left  the  rest  and  took 
the  seat  beside  me.  She  was  a  pale,  emaciated  girl,  not 
more  than  eighteen,  with  a  sunbonnet  on  her  head,  and 
dressed  in  a  clean  calico  gown.  "I  could  stand  no 
longer,"  she  explained.  As  I  made  room  for  her,  I  ob 
served  that  she  had  delicate  features  and  large  eyes.  Her 
hair  and  dress  were  neat.  As  she  raised  her  hand  to  re 
move  her  sunbonnet  and  use  it  for  a  fan,  her  loose  calico 
sleeve  slipped  up,  and  revealed  the  mere  skeleton  of  an 
arm.  She  perceived  my  expression  as  I  looked  at  it,  and 
hastily  pulled  down  her  sleeve  with  a  short  laugh.  "  This 
is  all  that's  left  of  me!"  she  said.  "It  seems  real  funny, 
don't  it  ?"  Evidently  she  had  been  a  pretty  girl  —  a  dress 
maker's  apprentice,  I  judged  from  her  chafed  forefinger 
and  a  certain  skill  in  the  lines  of  her  gown.  I  was  en 
couraged  to  ask  :  "  What  is  it  ?  Is  there  some  celebra 
tion  ?  " 

"There  /j,"  said  the  girl  solemnly  ;  "we  celebrate  our 
right  to  live.  We  are  starving.  As  soon  as  enough  of 
us  get  together  we  are  going  to  the  bakeries  and  each 
of  us  will  take  a  loaf  of  bread.  That  is  little  enough  for 
the  government  to  give  us  after  it  has  taken  all  our  men." 

Just  then  a  fat  old  black  Mammy  waddled  up  the  walk 

to  overtake  a  beautiful  child  who  was  running  before  her, 

"  Come  dis  a  way,  honey,"  she  called,  "  don't  go  nigh  dem 

people,"  adding,  in  a  lower  tone,  "  I's  feared  you'll  ketch 

294 


"Suppress  the  Women" 

somethin'  fum  dem  po'-white  folks.  I  wonder  dey  lets  'em 
into  de  Park.11 

The  girl  turned  to  me  with  a  wan  smile,  and  as  she  rose 
to  join  the  long  line  that  had  now  formed  and  was  mov 
ing,  she  said  simply,  "  Good-by  !  I'm  going  to  get  some 
thing  to  eat  !_" 

"And  I  devoutly  hope  you'll  get  it  —  and  plenty  of 
it,"  I  told  her.  The  crowd  now  rapidly  increased,  and 
numbered,  I  am  sure,  more  than  a  thousand  women  and 
children.  It  grew  and  grew  until  it  reached  the  dignity  of 
a  mob  —  a  bread  riot.  They  impressed  all  the  light  carts 
they  met,  and  marched  along  silently  and  in  order.  They 
marched  through  Gary  Street  and  Main,  visiting  the  stores 
of  the  speculators  and  emptying  them  of  their  contents. 
Governor  Letcher  sent  the  mayor  to  read  the  Riot  Act, 
and  as  this  had  no  effect  he  threatened  to  fire  on  the 
crowd.  The  city  battalion  then  came  up.  The  women 
fell  back  with  frightened  eyes,  but  did  not  obey  the  order 
to  disperse.  The  President  then  appeared,  ascended  a 
dray,  and  addressed  them.  It  is  said  he  was  received  at 
first  with  hisses  from  the  boys,  but  after  he  had  spoken 
some  little  time  with  great  kindness  and  sympathy,  the 
women  quietly  moved  on,  taking  their  food  with  them. 
General  Elzey  and  General  Winder  wished  to  call  troops 
from  the  camps  to  "  suppress  the  women,"  but  Mr.  Sed- 
don,  wise  man,  declined  to  issue  the  order.  While  I  write 
women  and  children  are  still  standing  in  the  streets,  de 
manding  food,  and  the  government  is  issuing  to  them 
rations  of  rice. 

This  is  a  frightful  state  of  things.  I  am  telling  you 
of  it  because  not  one  word  has  been  said  in  the  newspapers 
about  it.  All  will  be  changed.  Judge  Campbell  tells  me, 
if  we  can  win  a  battle  or  two  (but,  oh,  at  what  a  price  !), 
and  regain  the  control  of  our  railroads.  Your  General  has 
295 


The  Friendly  Craft 

been  magnificent.     He  has  fed  Lee's  army  all  winter  —  I 
wish  he  could  feed  our  starving  women  and  children. 

Dearly, 

AGNES 

President  Lincoln  acknowledges  his  error  to  General 
Grant  *^>  <^>-  *^>  ^v  ^>  ^> 
EXECUTIVE  MANSION,  WASHINGTON,//^  13,  1863 

MAJOR-GENERAL  GRAiNT. 
My  Dear  General :  I  do  not  remember  that  you 
and  I  ever  met  personally.  I  write  this  now  as  a  grateful 
acknowledgment  for  the  almost  inestimable  service  you 
have  done  the  country.  I  wish  to  say  a  word  further. 
When  you  first  reached  the  vicinity  of  Vicksburg,  I  thought 
you  should  do  what  you  finally  did  —  march  the  troops 
across  the  neck,  run  the  batteries  with  the  transports,  and 
thus  go  below  ;  and  I  never  had  any  faith,  except  a  gen 
eral  hope  that  you  knew  better  than  I,  that  the  Yazoo  Pass 
expedition  and  the  like  could  succeed.  When  you  got 
below  and  took  Port  Gibson,  Grand  Gulf,  and  vicinity,  I 
thought  you  should  go  down  the  river  and  join  General 
Banks,  and  when  you  turned  northward,  east  of  the  Big 
Black,  I  feared  it  was  a  mistake.  I  now  wish  to  make  the 
personal  acknowledgment  that  you  were  right  and  I  was 
wrong. 

Yours  very  truly, 

A.  LINCOLN 

The  evacuation  of  Richmond  as  a  woman  saw  it      ^> 
(To  Mrs.  Roger  A.  Pryor) 

RICHMOND,  April  5,  1865 

MY  DEAR  :  —  I  am  not  at  all  sure  you  will  ever  receive 
this  letter,  but  I  shall  risk  it.     First,  I  join  you  in 
humble  thanks  to  God  for  the  great  mercy  accorded  both 
296 


A  Flag  of  Truce 

of  us.  Your  General  lives.  My  Colonel  lives.  What 
words  can  express  our  gratitude  ?  What  is  the  loss  of 
home  and  goods  compared  with  the  loss  of  our  own  flesh 
and  blood  ?  Alas  !  Alas  !  for  those  who  have  lost  all ! 

I  am  sure  you  will  have  heard  the  grewsome  story  of 
Richmond's  evacuation.  I  was  at  St.  Paul's  Sunday, 
April  i,  when  a  note  was  handed  to  President  Davis.  He 
rose  instantly,  and  walked  down  the  aisle — his  face  set, 
so  we  could  read  nothing.  Dr.  Minnegerocle  gave  notice 
that  General  Ewell  desired  the  forces  to  assemble  at  3 
P.M.,  and  also  that  there  would  be  no  further  service  that 
day.  I  had  seen  no  one  speak  to  the  doctor,  and  I  wonder 
at  the  acuteness  of  his  perception  of  the  state  of  affairs. 
As  soon  as  I  reached  the  hotel  I  wrote  a  note  to  the 
proprietor,  asking  for  news.  He  answered  that  grave 
tidings  had  come  from  Petersburg,  and  for  himself  he  was 
by  no  means  sure  we  could  hold  Richmond.  He  requested 
me  to  keep  quiet  and  not  encourage  a  tendency  to  excite 
ment  or  panic.  At  first  I  thought  I  would  read  my  services 
in  the  quiet  of  my  little  sky  parlor  at  the  Spotswood,  but  I 
was  literally  in  a  fever  of  anxiety.  I  descended  to  the 
parlor.  Nobody  was  there  except  two  or  three  children 
with  their  nurses.  Later  in  the  afternoon  I  walked  out 
and  met  Mr.  James^  Lyons.  He  said  there  was  no  use 
in  further  evading  the  truth.  The  lines  were  broken  at 
Petersburg  and  that  town  and  Richmond  would  be  sur 
rendered  late  at  night  —  he  was  going  out  himself  with 
the  mayor  and  Judge  Meredith  with  a  flag  of  truce  and 
surrender  the  city.  Trains  were  already  fired  to  carry  the 
archives  and  bank  officials.  The  President  and  his  Cabinet 
would  probably  leave  at  the  same  time. 

"And  you,  Judge  ?" 

"  I  shall  stand  my  ground.     I  have  a  sick  family,  and  we 
must  take  our  chances  together.11 
297 


The  Friendly   Craft 

"  Then  seriously  —  really  and  truly  —  Richmond  is  to  be 
given  up,  after  all,  to  the  enemy.11 

"  Nothing  less  !  And  we  are  going  to  have  a  rough 
time,  I  imagine.11 

I  could  not  be  satisfied  until  I  had  seen  Judge  Campbell, 
upon  whom  we  so  much  relied  for  good,  calm  sense.  I 
found  him  with  his  hands  full  of  papers,  which  he  waved 
deprecatingly  as  I  entered. 

"Just  a  minute,  Judge  !  I  am  alone  at  the  Spotswood 
and11  — 

"  Stay  there,  my  dear  lady  !  You  will  be  perfectly  safe. 
I  advise  all  families  to  remain  in  their  own  houses.  Keep 
quiet.  I  am  glad  to  know  the  Colonel  is  safe.  He  may 
be  with  you  soon  now.1' 

With  this  advice  I  returned  and  mightily  reassured  and 
comforted  the  proprietor  of  the  Spotswood.  He  immedi 
ately  caused  notice  to  be  issued  to  his  guests.  I  resolved 
to  convey  my  news  to  the  families  I  knew  best.  The 
Pegrams  were  in  such  deep  affliction  there  was  no  room 
there  for  anxious  fears  about  such  small  matters  as  the 
evacuation  of  cities,  but  I  could  see  my  dear  Mrs.  Paul, 
and  Mrs.  Maben,  and  say  a  comforting  word  at  the  Allan 
home  —  closed  to  all  the  world  since  poor  John  fell  at 
Gettysburg.  Mrs.  Davis  was  gone  and  out  of  harm's  way. 
The  Lees  were  sacred  from  intrusion.  Four  members  of 
that  household  —  the  General,  "  Rooney,11  Custis,  and 
Robert  —  were  all  at  the  post  of  danger.  Late  in  the 
afternoon  three  hundred  or  more  prisoners  were  marched 
down  the  street ;  the  negroes  began  to  stand  about,  quietly 
observant  but  courteous,  making  no  demonstration  what 
ever.  The  day,  you  remember,  was  one  of  those  glorious 
days  we  have  in  April,  and  millions  on  millions  of  stars 
watched  at  night,  looking  down  on  the  watchers  below. 
I  expected  to  sit  by  my  window  all  night  as  you  always  do 


A   Morning  of  Horror 

in  a  troubled  time,  but  sleep  overtook  me.  I  had  slept, 
but  not  undressed,  when  a  loud  explosion  shook  the 
house  —  then  another.  There  were  crashing  sounds  of 
falling  glass  from  the  concussion.  I  found  the  sun  had 
risen.  All  was  commotion  in  the  streets,  and  agitation  in 
the  hotel.  The  city  government  had  dragged  hogsheads 
of  liquor  from  the  shops,  knocked  in  the  heads,  and 
poured  the  spirits  into  the  gutters.  They  ran  with  brandy, 
whiskey,  and  rum,  and  men,  women,  and  boys  rushed  out 
with  buckets,  pails,  pitchers,  and  in  the  lower  streets,  hats 
and  boots,  to  be  filled.  Before  eight  o1clock  many  public 
buildings  were  in  flames,  and  a  great  conflagration  was 
evidently  imminent.  The  flames  swept  up  Main  Street, 
where  the  stores  were  quickly  burned,  and  then  roared 
down  the  side  streets  almost  to  Franklin. 

The  doors  of  all  the  government  bakeries  were  thrown 
open  and  food  was  given  to  all  who  asked  it.  Women 
and  children  walked  in  and  helped  themselves.  At  ten 
o'clock  the  enemy  arrived,  —  ten  thousand  negro  troops, 
going  on  and  on,  cheered  by  the  negroes  on  the  streets. 

So  the  morning  passed  —  a  morning  of  horror,  of  terror! 
Drunken  men  shouted  and  reeled  through  the  streets,  a 
black  cloud  from  the  burning  city  hung  like  a  pall  over  us, 
a  black  sea  of  faces  filled  the  street  below,  shells  burst 
continuously  in  the  ashes  of  the  burning  armory.  About 
four  in  the  afternoon  a  salute  of  thirty-four  guns  was  fired. 
A  company  of  mounted  dragoons  advanced  up  the  street, 
escorting  an  open  carriage  drawn  by  four  horses  in  which 
sat  Mr.  Lincoln  and  a  naval  officer,  followed  by  an  escort 
of  cavalry.  They  drove  straight  to  Mr.  Davis's  house, 
cheered  all  the  way  by  negroes,  and  returned  the  way  they 
came.  I  had  a  good  look  at  Mr.  Lincoln.  He  seemed 
tired  and  old  —  and  I  must  say,  with  due  respect  to  the 
President  of  the  United  States,  I  thought  him  the  ugliest 
299 


The  Friendly  Craft 

man  I  had  ever  seen.  He  was  fairly  elected  the  first  time, 
I  acknowledge.  —  but  was  he  the  last  ?  A  good  many  of 
the  "free  and  equal "  were  not  allowed  a  vote  then. 

The  next  day  I  persuaded  one  of  the  lads  in  the  hotel  to 
take  a  walk  with  me  early  in  the  morning,  and  I  passed 
General  Lee's  house.  A  Yankee  guard  was  pacing  to  and 
fro  before  it  —  at  which  I  felt  an  impulse  of  indignation, 
—  but  presently  the  door  opened,  the  guard  took  his  seat 
on  the  steps  and  proceeded  to  investigate  the  contents  of 
a  very  neatly  furnished  tray,  which  Mrs.  Lee  in  the  kind 
ness  of  her  heart  had  sent  out  to  him. 

I  am  obliged  to  acknowledge  that  there  is  really  no  hope 
now  of  our  ultimate  success.  Everybody  says  so.  My 
heart  is  too  full  for  words.  General  Johnson  says  we  may 
comfort  ourselves  by  the  fact  that  war  may  decide  a  policy, 
but  never  a  principle.  I  imagine  our  principle  is  all  that 
remains  to  us  of  hope  or  comfort. 

Devotedly, 

AGNES 


"  My  Captain  lies,  fallen  cold  and  dead  "      -^      x^>- 

(From  George  William  Curtis) 
*O-NIGHT  in  the  misty  spring  moonlight,  as  I 


T 


think  of  the  man  we  all  loved  and  honored,  laid 
quietly  to  rest  upon  the  prairie,  I  feel  that  I  can  not  honor 
too  much,  or  praise  too  highly,  the  people  that  he  so  truly 
represented,  and  which,  like  him,  has  been  faithful  to  the 
end.  So  spotless  he  was,  so  patient,  so  tender,  —  it  is  a 
selfish,  sad  delight  to  me  now,  as  when  I  looked  upon  his 
coffin,  that  his  patience  had  made  me  patient,  and  that  I 
never  doubted  his  heart,  or  head,  or  hand.  At  the  only 
interview  I  ever  had  with  him,  he  shook  my  hand  pater 
nally  at  parting,  and  said,  "  Don't  be  troubled.  I  guess 
300 


Faithful  to  the  End 

we  shall  get  through.11  We  have  got  through,  at  least  the 
fighting,  and  still  I  cannot  believe  it.  Here  upon  the  mantel 
are  the  portraits  of  the  three  boys  who  went  out  of  this 
room,  my  brother,  Theodore  Winthrop,  and  Robbie  Shaw. 
They  are  all  dead  —  the  brave  darlings  —  and  now  I  put 
the  head  of  the  dear  Chief  among  them,  I  feel  that  every 
drop  of  my  blood  and  thought  of  my  mind  and  affection 
of  my  heart  is  consecrated  to  securing  the  work  made  holy 
and  forever  imperative  by  so  untold  a  sacrifice.  May  God 
keep  us  all  as  true  as  they  were  !  .  .  . 

In  peace  General  Lee  loses  the  burden  of  old  sorrows 

(To  his  son) 
LEXINGTON,  VIRGINIA,  December  21,  1867 

MY  DEAR  FITZHUGH:  .  .  .  My  visit  to  Peters 
burg  was  extremely  pleasant.  Besides  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  my  daughter  and  being  with  you,  which  was  very 
great,  I  was  gratified  in  seeing  many  friends.  In  addition, 
when  our  armies  were  in  front  of  Petersburg  I  suffered  so 
much  in  body  and  mind  on  account  of  the  good  towns 
people,  especially  on  that  gloomy  night  when  I  was  forced 
to  abandon  them,  that  I  have  always  reverted  to  them  in 
sadness  and  sorrow.  My  old  feelings  returned  to  me,  as  I 
passed  well-remembered  spots  and  recalled  the  ravages  of 
the  hostile  shells.  But  when  I  saw  the  cheerfulness  with 
which  the  people  were  working  to  restore  their  condition, 
and  witnessed  the  comforts  with  which  they  were  sur 
rounded,  a  load  of  sorrow  which  had  been  pressing  upon 
me  for  years  was  lifted  from  my  heart.  This  is  bad 
weather  for  completing  your  house,  but  it  will  soon  pass 
away,  and  your  sweet  helpmate  will  make  everything  go 
smoothly.  When  the  spring  opens  and  the  mocking- 
301 


The  Friendly  Craft 

birds  resume  their  song  you  will  have  much  to  do.  So 
you  must  prepare  in  time.  .  .  .  God  bless  you  all  is  the 
prayer  of  Your  devoted  father,  R.  E.  LEE 

"  How  swift  the  sudden  flash  of  woe  "     ^y     <^y     ^> 
(From  Mrs.  James  G.  Elaine) 

WASHINGTON,  [July  3,]  1881 

.  .  "\7"OUR  father  got  up  quite  early  yesterday  morn- 
JL  ing,  in  order  to  drive  the  President  to  the 
station,  and  at  9.30  Tom,  the  boys,  Alice,  and  I  had 
breakfast.  In  the  midst  of  it,  the  door-bell  rang  and  Tom 
was  called  out.  Then  he  called  Walker ;  but  as  the  house 
is  besieged  all  the  time,  we,  who  were  so  fortunate  as  to 
remain  unsent  for,  paid  no  attention  to  the  prolonged  ab 
sence  of  the  absentees  ;  but  shall  I  ever  forget  the  moment 
when  Maggie,  nurse,  came  running  into  the  room  crying, 
"They  have  telephoned  over  to  you,  Mrs.  Elaine,  that  the 
President  is  assassinated.1'  Emmons  flew,  for  we  all 
remembered,  with  one  accord,  that  his  father  was  with 
him.  By  the  time  I  had  reached  the  door,  I  saw  that  it 
must  be  true  —  everybody  on  the  street,  and  wild.  Mrs. 
Sherman  got  a  carriage  and  drove  over  to  the  White 
House.  Found  the  streets  in  front  jammed  and  the  doors 
closed,  but  they  let  us  through  and  in.  The  President 
still  at  the  station,  so  drove  thitherward.  Met  the 
mounted  police  clearing  the  avenue,  then  the  ambulance, 
turned  and  followed  into  that  very  gateway  where,  on  the 
4th  of  March,  we  had  watched  him  enter.  I  stood  with 
Mrs.  MacVeagh  in  the  hall,  when  a  dozen  men  bore  him 
above  their  heads,  stretched  on  a  mattress,  and  as  he  saw 
us  and  held  us  with  his  eye,  he  kissed  his  hand  to  us  —  I 
thought  I  should  die  ;  and  when  they  brought  him  into  his 
chamber  and  had  laid  him  on  his  bed,  he  turned  his  eyes 
302 


Topsy-Turvy  Paris 

to  me,  beckoned,  and  when  I  went  to  him,  pulled  me  down, 
kissed  me  again  and  again,  and  said,  "Whatever  happens, 
I  want  you  to  promise  to  look  out  for  Crete,11 — the  name 
he  always  gives  his  wife.  ...  "  Don^  leave  me  until 
Crete  comes.11  I  took  my  old  bonnet  off  and  just  stayed. 
I  never  left  him  a  moment.  Whatever  happened  in  the 
room,  I  never  blenched,  and  the  day  will  never  pass  from 
my  memory.  At  six,  or  thereabouts,  Mrs.  Garfield  came, 
frail,  fatigued,  desperate,  but  firm  and  quiet  and  full  of 
purpose  to  save,  and  I  think  now  there  is  a  possibility  of 
succeeding.  .  .  . 

Charles  Godfrey  Leland  on  the  jolly  days  of  the  Revo 
lution  of  '48        <^x      ^v>      *^>      x^><      -^>      ^>- 

(To  Frank  Fisher) 

PARIS,  April  28,  1 848 

DEAR  FRANK,  — Accuse  me  of  negligence  in  writing, 
if  you  will,  but  of  all  negligence  with  regard  to  at 
tending  to  your  affairs  I  am  innocent.  Oui,  tres  cher,  amy 
et  cousin.  Everything  in  Paris  has  gone  a  tort  et  a  travers 
from  the  affairs  of  Louis  Filente  or  Louis  Filon  and  the 
Government  Provisoire  down  to  mine  and  thine.  The  fall 
of  the  oak  kills  the  squirrels,  and  the  Revolution  of  1848 
has  played  "enfer"  with  our  personal  arrangements.  I 
have  already  written  a  longish  letter  to  you  —  it  "  went 
lost11  and  now  I  hit  him  again.  Fve  been  in  all  sorts  of 
adventures,  and  all  sorts  of  luck  since  I  saw  you.  I  turned 
out  in  the  Grande  Revolution,  armed  like  a  smuggler  with 
dirk  and  pistols,  saw  some  fusillades,  helped  build  several 
barricades,  —  was  capitaine  at  one  nice  little  one  in  our 
Quartier,  and  distributed  percussion  caps  and  consolation 
to  the  heroic  canaille,  not  to  mention  being  at  the  plunder 
of  the  Tuileries  —  not  that  I  plundered  anything.  It  was 
303 


The  Friendly  Craft 

great  fun  while  it  lasted  —  was  that  said  same  Revolution. 
Whack,  hurrah,  guns  and  drums,  fusillades  and  barricades! 
We  dined  under  a  Monarchy,  supped  under  a  Regency, 
went  to  sleep  under  a  Provisional  Government,  and  woke 
under  a  Republic — not  to  mention  about  two  hours  when 
we  had  just  no  Government  at  all.  Well,  ami  cousin,  Fm 
coming  home  soon.  The  Boulevards  look  forlorn  without 
trees  —  Dejazet  is  playing  in  "Mile,  de  Choisy"  at  the 
Varietes  —  a  very  pretty  little  comedy.  We  had  a  Review 
with  nearly  350,000  soldiers  the  other  day,  and  all  Paris  is 
overrun  with  penny  papers,  newsboys,  and  newswomen, 
who  make  such  a  row  night  and  day  that  the  city  has  be 
come  insufferable.  Field  is  in  England.  As  for  me,  I 
made  a  speech  in  German  the  other  night  to  the  audience 
at  Bobino's  little  Theatre,  at  the  top  of  my  voice.  It  went 
down  like  Greek  at  Tammany  Hall  —  nobody  understood 
a  word,  the  audience  were  completely  mystified,  but  still 
very  much  delighted.  Whenever  a  man  who  looks  a  little 
more  respectable  than  common  goes  to  Bobino's,  he  is 
sure  to  be  called  out  to  by  some  student,  —  more  oratori 
cal  than  the  rest,  —  and  must  either  display  his  talent  at 
repartee  and  slanging,  or  else  sit  still  and  be  slanged. 
Well  —  /was  the  selected  one  the  other  night,  and  as  I 
did  not  understand  half  the  argot  —  though  by  this  time  I 
speak  French  decently  enough  —  I  gave  it  back  to  them  in 
a  regular  stump  speech  in  German  —  not  caring  to  speak 
English  and  be  called  a  «  Goddem  "  and  a  "  biftek."  All 
of  these  things  have  come  on  since  the  Revolution  —  now 
the  entire  populace  has  become  acquainted,  nobody  is 
ghie:  every  night  at  all  the  theatres  the  entire  audience 
sing  the  songs  of  the  revolution  and  amuse  themselves  in 
a  free  and  easy  way  which  would  do  honour  to  the  Bowery 
—  so  that  even  I — quiet  and  sober  citizen  —  have  been 
inspired  with  their  enthusiasm.  I  really  begin  to  think 
3°4 


Strange   Contrasts 

of  addressing  the  opera  audience  on  the  American  Consti 
tution  —  the  price  of  provisions  —  electro-magnetism  —  and 
matters  and  things  in  general.  You  will  find  the  report 
of  the  speech  the  next  day  after  never  in  the  columns  of 
the  "Constitutionnel" — Vive  la  bagatelle — don't  shew 
this  letter  to  any  body.  .  .  . 

Washington  Irving  recalls  Louis  Napoleon   and  Eu 
genie  Montijo     <^>-      ^>     x;^v      x^>      ^>      x^>- 
(To  Mrs.  Storrow) 

SUNNYSIDE,  March  28,  1853 

MY  DEAR  SARAH, 
A  letter  received  from  you  while  I  was  at  Washing 
ton,  gave  an  account  of  the  marriage  procession  of  Louis 
Napoleon  and  his  bride  to  the  Church  of  Notre  Dame, 
which  you  saw  from  a  window  near  the  Hotel  de  Ville. 
One  of  your  recent  letters,  I  am  told,  speaks  of  your  having 
been  presented  to  the  Empress.  I  shall  see  it  when  I  go 
to  town.  Louis  Napoleon  and  Eugenie  Montijo,  Emperor 
and  Empress  of  France  !  —  one  of  whom  I  have  had  a 
guest  at  my  cottage  on  the  Hudson ;  the  other,  whom, 
when  a  child  I  have  had  on  my  knee  at  Granada !  It 
seems  to  cap  the  climax  of  the  strange  dramas  of  which 
Paris  has  been  the  theatre  during  my  life  time. 

I  have  repeatedly  thought  that  each  grand  coup  de 
theatre  would  be  the  last  that  would  occur  in  my  time ; 
but  each  has  been  succeeded  by  another  equally  striking, 
and  what  will  be  the  next,  who  can  conjecture? 

The  last  1  saw  of  Eugenie  Montijo,  she  was  one  of  the 
reigning  belles  of  Madrid  ;  and  she  and  her  giddy  circle 
had  swept  .away  my  charming  young  friend,  the  beautiful 
and  accomplished ,  into  their  career  of  fashion 
able  dissipation.  Now  Eugenie  is  upon  a  throne,  and 
x  305 


The  Friendly  Craft 

a  voluntary  recluse  in  a  convent  of  one  of  the  most 

rigorous  orders  !     Poor !     Perhaps,  however,  her  fate 

may  ultimately  be  the  happiest  of  the  two.  "  The  storm," 
with  her,  "  is  o'er,  and  she's  at  rest ;  "  but  the  other  is 
launched  upon  a  returnless  shore  on  a  dangerous  sea  in 
famous  for  its  tremendous  shipwrecks. 

Am  I  to  live  to  see  the  catastrophe  of  her  career,  and  the 
end  of  this  suddenly  conjured-up  empire,  which  seems  to 
be  of  "  such  stuff  as  dreams  are  made  of"  ? 

I  confess  my  personal  acquaintance  with  the  individuals 
who  figure  in  this  historical  romance  gives  me  uncommon 
interest  in  it ;  but  I  consider  it  stamped  with  danger  and 
instability,  and  as  liable  to  extravagant  vicissitudes  as  one 
of  Dumas'  novels.  .  .  . 

With  affectionate  remembrances  to  Mr.  Storrow,  and 
love  to  the  dear  little  folks, 

Your  affectionate  uncle, 

WASHINGTON  IRVING 


Seventeen  years  later  his  fears  are  realized      x^     x;^> 
(George  Bancroft  to  Mrs.  J.  C.  Bancroft  Davis) 

October  13,  1870 

kR.  EVANS1  of  Paris  has  been  here,  dined  with 
us,  and  told  us  the  whole  story  of  the  escape 
of  the  empress.  On  the  morning  on  which  the  Napoleon 
Dynasty  was  deposed  [Sept.  4]  and  the  mob  of  Paris  pro 
claimed  a  set  of  ministers,  the  empress  was  at  the  Tuile- 
ries,  dressed  in  black  as  one  who  mourned  for  the  captivity 
of  her  husband,  with  a  black  hat  on  her  head,  just  going 
to  church.  On  the  first  news  she  stood  her  ground;  but 
on  learning  that  the  Assembly  had  given  way,  she  caught 


D1 


1  The  celebrated  American  dentist. 
306 


The  Escape  of  an   Empress 

up  a  thin  aquascute  spenser  and  went  down  the  stairs  of 
the  palace  to  escape.  The  ascending  crowd  compelled  her 
to  turn  back :  all  her  people,  all  her  household,  men  and 
women  deserted  her  except  Madame  Le  Breton.  With 
Mad.  Le  B.  she  turned  and  went  through  the  whole  length 
of  the  Louvre,  and  came  out  at  a  little  door  opposite  the 
Church  Auxerrois  or  some  such  name  —  you  remember  the 
place  well.  She  walked  bravely  with  Mad.  L.  through 
the  crowd,  and  drove  for  the  Avenue  Hausmann.  There 
she  alighted  and  when  the  fiacre  was  out  of  sight,  the  two 
women  drove  in  another  fiacre  to  the  house  of  Dr.  Evans. 
There  was  not  in  all  Paris  a  French  house,  to  which  the 
empress  could  confide  herself.  Evans  at  this  time  was  at 
the  Tuileries  looking  out  for  the  empress  to  take  care  of 
her  and  aid  her  flight.  On  returning  home  he  found  the 
two  ladies  in  his  private  office,  smuggled  them  upstairs 
into  his  wife's  bed-room,  (his  wife  being  at  Deauville  and 
his  servants  being  hoodwinked).  There  he  gave  them 
refreshment;  went  out  upon  the  Boulevards  to  hear  cries 
for  the  "  Republique  "  ;  studied  the  avenue  of  escape  from 
the  city ;  returned  to  make  beds  for  his  illustrious  guests 
(he  would  trust  no  servant)  and  his  wife  being  a  prudent 
woman  who  kept  her  wardrobe  locked  in  her  absence, 
could  give  them  neither  a  change  of  linen  nor  a  night 
gown.  The  next  morning  Evans  with  a  trusty  American 
who  was  his  assistant  as  dentist,  and  his  two  fugitives  left 
Paris  in  his  own  carriage,  and  with  his  own  horses  and 
coachman.  This  carriage  had  on  it  the  letter  E.  The 
empress  said  :  "  My  carriage  was  always  marked  as  mine  ; 
hitherto  with  the  crown :  now  with  my  name,  E  for  Eu 
genie.1'  His  horses  being  very  good  ones,  he  conducted 
the  party  without  change  sixty  or  seventy  miles,  as  far  as 
Lisieux.  There  with  much  diplomacy,  he  transferred  the 
party  to  a  hired  carriage,  and  turning  Lisieux,  got  into  a 
307 


The  Friendly  Craft 

village  beyond  it,  where  they  halted  for  the  night  in  a  sorry 
public  house,  which  at  first  could  offer  them  but  one  room. 
Another  was  obtained  at  last ;  and  the  night  went  by. 
The  next  day  the  party  reached  Deauville ;  and  Evans 
stopping  at  a  distance  from  the  hotel,  took  the  empress  on 
his  arm,  and  without  meeting  a  person,  led  her  up  stairs  to 
his  wife's  apartments  in  the  hotel.  Mad.  L.  followed 
with  his  assistant  and  openly.  Till  then  the  empress 
had  no  outside  garment  of  her  own,  except  the  little  water 
proof,  and  kept  herself  comfortable  by  the  coat  of  Evans. 
She  had  had  no  change  of  clothes,  and  but  one  pocket- 
handkerchief,  which  she  herself  washed  in  a  glass  of  water 
thrice  on  her  journey,  laying  it  on  her  knees  to  dry. 
Brave  as  she  showed  herself  tears  came  often,  and  by 
exposure  to  rain  she  caught  cold.  In  the  night  at  12  the 
party  stole  over  the  sand  to  Sir  John  Burgoyne's  yacht ; 
and  at  five  the  next  morning  put  to  sea  in  a  yacht  of  30 
tons  burden.  The  wind  changed:  it  blew  a  gale;  the 
little  boat  tossed  about  like  a  cockle  shell,  but  did  not  go 
down.  So  after  20  hours  of  terrible  suffering  she  landed 
at  Rye.  Evans  did  not  desert  his  party  till  he  established 
Eugenie  in  a  hired  country  house,  and  started  her  in  the 
ways  of  English  life :  her  housekeeping  being  arranged 
on  an  intended  expenditure  of  100,000  francs,  that  is 
$20.000  per  annum.  This  rough  outline  Evans  adorned 
with  many  details  ;  principally  of  the  good  spirits  of  the 
empress,  which  by  the  way  were  in  part  hysterical ;  of  her 
charming  manner  under  circumstances  of  exposure,  want 
of  rest,  want  of  fit  food,  etc.  The  most  remarkable  inci 
dent  was,  that  of  the  imperialists  not  one  single  man  stood 
by  her,  and  only  one  woman.  .  .  . 


308 


Fighting  Louis   Quatorze 

George   Bancroft   on  the  reconstruction  of  Germany 
(To  Mrs.  Hamilton  Fish) 

BERLIN,  n  December,  1870 

WHEN  Thiers  passed  through  Vienna  on  his 
way  from  Petersburg  to  Tours,  he  met  Ranke 
the  historian,  and  demanded  of  him  "  Why  is  the  war 
continued?  We  have  discarded  the  emperor :  with  whom 
are  you  fighting  now?"  "With  Louis  Quatorze,"  an 
swered  Ranke,  and  there  is  a  great  deal  of  truth  and  sig 
nificance  in  the  words.  Louis  XIV,  for  all  his  despotism, 
his  inhuman  bigotry,  his  passion  for  wars,  has  even  till 
now  remained  in  the  eyes  of  the  French  as  the  great  king : 
because  he,  more  than  any  one  else,  used  the  concentered 
power  which  he  held,  to  make  conquests  all  along  the 
eastern  frontier.  France  reveres  his  memory,  because 
his  arms  carried  the  French  boundary  to  the  Rhine.  The 
hour  has  come  for  the  monarchy  of  Louis  XIV  to  expire : 
it  dies  hard,  but  die  it  must.  .  .  . 

You  can  hardly  call  the  Germans  a  slow  people.  On 
our  Thanksgiving  day  the  diet  of  North  Germany  assem 
bled  to  unite  all  Germany,  and  turn  the  Union  into  an 
Empire,  the  President  into  an  Emperor.  The  work  has 
been  consummated  in  seventeen  days.  The  assent  of  the 
Southern  chambers  of  the  several  states  will  be  obtained 
before  New  Year,  and  an  era  of  glory  and  peace  will  dawn 
upon  Germany  with  the  first  day  of  January.  When  King 
William  succeeded  his  brother,  he  was  already  advanced 
in  years,  and  wrote  to  the  instructor  of  his  son,  that  "  he 
did  but  break  the  path  "  for  him ;  and  see  the  old  king 
has  greatly  enlarged  the  dominions  of  Prussia,  has  united 
all  Germany,  has  reestablished  the  empire,  and  before 
this  letter  can  reach  you  will  be  proclaimed  emperor.  So 
much  for  having  a  minister  like  Bismarck,  and  a  warrior 
309 


I 


The  Friendly   Craft 

like  Moltke ;  and  being  a  man  of  energy  and  exemplary 
industry  himself.  .  .  . 

Edwin  Lawrence  Godkin  on  Imperialism  and  Kipling 
(To  Miss  Dawson) 

Dec.  23,  1899. 

DO  not  like  to  talk  about  the  Boer  war,  it  is  too 
painful.  To  think  of  England,  which  I  love  and 
admire  so  much,  and  which  is  so  full  of  beauty,  being  filled 
with  mourning  at  this  season  !  When  I  do  speak  of  the 
war  my  language  becomes  unfit  for  publication,  and  I 
therefore  will  not  write  of  it  to  you.  Talking  of  the 
Philippine  war  has  the  same  effect  upon  me,  and  I  have 
therefore  ceased  to  write  about  McKinley.  Every  one 
who  believes  in  the  divine  government  of  the  world  must 
believe  that  God  will  eventually  take  up  the  case  of  fellows 
who  set  unnecessary  wars  on  foot,  and  I  hope  he  won't 
forgive  them. 

Barring  this  dreadful  news,  life  goes  on  as  usual  with 
us.  I  used  to  think,  that  when  I  got  tired  of  the  war  and 
bragging  here  I  could  go  over  to  England  and  live  in 
peace,  but  that  is  no  longer  possible,  and  we  are  making 
up  our  minds  to  stay  over  here  through  next  summer  — 
Dublin,  N.  H.,  or  some  place  of  that  sort.  I  fear  you  with 
your  perversity  will  seize  that  occasion  to  go  over.  You 
committed  the  second  greatest  mistake  of  your  life  last 
summer;  you  are  now  ripe  for  the  third.  In  the  fall  we 
shall  go  for  a  year  or  more,  I  do  not  well  know  where. 

Kipling  has  long  been  to  me  a  most  pernicious,  vulgar 
person.  I  only  admire  one  thing  of  his,  "  The  Reces 
sional."  He  may  have  written  other  things  as  good,  but 
I  don't  read  him.  I  think  most  of  the  current  jingoism  on 
both  sides  of  the  water  is  due  to  him.  He  is  the  poet  of 
310 


"  The  Retort  Courteous  " 

the  barrack-room  cads.     Of  course  I  don't  venture  to  set 
my  judgment  of  him  up  against  many  good  people.  .  .  . 

XI 

"I   WILL  NAME  YOU  THE   DEGREES" 

"  The  Retort  Courteous "    ^      ^      ^     ^x     ^ 
(Jared  Sparks  to  Henry  W.  Longfellow) 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I  return  the  article  you  were  so  good  as 
to  send  me.  In  many  respects  it  has  a  good  deal  of 
merit,  but  on  the  whole  I  do  not  think  it  suited  to  the 
[North  American]  "  Review."  Many  of  the  thoughts  and 
reflections  are  good,  but  they  want  maturity  and  betray  a 
young  writer.  The  style,  too,  is  a  little  ambitious,  although 
not  without  occasional  elegance.  With  more  practice  the 
author  cannot  fail  to  become  a  good  writer ;  and  perhaps 
my  judgment  in  regard  to  this  article  would  not  agree  with 
that  of  others  whose  opinion  is  to  be  respected  ;  but,  after 
all,  you  know,  we  editors  have  no  other  criterion  than  our 
own  judgment.  .  .  . 

"  The  Quip  Modest "       ^      -Qy      ^x      ^      ^y 
LEXINGTON,  VIRGINIA,  September  26,  1866 

MR.  E.  A.  POLLARD, 

104  WEST  BALTIMORE  ST., 
BALTIMORE,  MD. 

DEAR  SIR:    I  return  you  my  thanks  for  the  compli 
ment  paid  me  by  your  proposition  to  write  a  history 
of  my  life.     It  is  a  hazardous  undertaking  to  publish  the 
life  of  any  one  while  living,  and  there  are  but  few  who 


The  Friendly  Craft 

would  desire  to  read  a  true  history  of  themselves.  Inde 
pendently  of  the  few  national  events  with  which  mine  has 
been  connected,  it  presents  little  to  interest  the  general 
reader,  nor  do  I  know  where  to  refer  you  for  the  necessary 
materials.  All  my  private,  as  well  as  public,  records  have 
been  destroyed  or  lost,  except  what  is  to  be  found  in  pub 
lished  documents,  and  I  know  of  nothing  available  for  the 
purpose.  Should  you,  therefore,  determine  to  undertake 
the  work,  you  must  rely  upon  yourself,  as  my  time  is  so 
fully  occupied  that  I  am  unable  to  promise  you  any  assist 
ance. 

Very  respectfully, 

R.  E.  LEE 

"  The  Reply  Churlish "        ^     ^     ^     ^>     ^ 

NEW- YORK,  June  18,  1804 
OIR, 

^  I  send  for  your  perusal  a  letter  signed  Charles  D. 
Cooper,  which,  though  apparently  published  some  time 
ago,  has  but  very  recently  come  to  my  knowledge.  Mr. 
Van  Ness,  who  does  me  the  favour  to  deliver  this,  will 
point  out  to  you  that  clause  of  the  letter  to  which  I  partic 
ularly  request  your  attention. 

You  must  perceive,  Sir,  the  necessity  of  a  prompt  and 
unqualified  acknowledgment  or  denial  of  the  use  of  any 
expression  which  would  warrant  the  assertions  of  Dr. 
Cooper. 

I  have  the  honour  to  be, 

Your  obedient  serv't, 

A.  BURR 
GENERAL  HAMILTON 


312 


"  The  Reproof  Valiant  " 

"  The  Reproof  Valiant "      ^x     ^>      ^>      ^y      ^ 

NEW- YORK,  June  22,  1804 
CIR, 

^3  Your  first  letter,  in  a  style  too  peremptory,  made  a 
demand,  in  my  opinion,  unprecedented  and  unwarrantable. 
My  answer,  pointing  out  the  embarrassment,  gave  you  an 
opportunity  to  take  a  less  exceptionable  course.  You  have 
not  chosen  to  do  it ;  but  by  your  last  letter  received  this 
day,  containing  expressions  indecorous  and  improper,  you 
have  increased  the  difficulties  to  explanation  intrinsically 
incident  to  the  nature  of  your  application. 

If  by  a  "  definite  reply,"  you  mean  the  direct  avowal  or 
disavowal  required  in  your  first  letter,  I  have  no  other  an 
swer  to  give,  than  that  which  has  already  been  given.  If 
you  mean  anything  different,  admitting  of  greater  latitude, 
it  is  requisite  you  should  explain. 
I  have  the  honour  to  be, 

Sir,  your  obedient  servant, 

ALEX.  HAMILTON 
AARON  BURR,  ESQ. 

"  The  Countercheck  Quarrelsome "       x^y      ^>      *^ 

PHILADELPHIA,  5  July,  1775 

MR.  STRAHAN, 
You  are  a  member  of  Parliament,  and  one  of  that 
majority,  which  has  doomed  my  country  to  destruction. 
You  have  begun  to  burn  our  towns,  and  murder  our  people. 
Look  upon  your  hands,  they  are  stained  with  the  blood  of 
your  relations  !  You  and  I  were  long  friends  ;  you  are  now 
my  enemy,  and  I  am,  yours 

[BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN] 


The  Friendly  Craft 

The  Lie  Circumstantial  "        ^>       ^^v       ^y       ^^y 

NASHVILLE,  January  3d,  1806 

ANDREW  JACKSON  :  —  sir,  i  was  last 


evening  informed  by  Mr.  Dickinson  that,  when  called 
on  by  Captain  Ervin  and  himself  at  Mr.  Winn's  tavern,  on 
Saturday  last,  to  say  whether  the  notes  offered  by  them,  or 
either  of  them,  at  the  time  the  forfeit  was  paid  in  the  race 
between  Truxton  and  Plow  Boy,  were  the  same  received 
at  the  time  of  making  the  race,  you  acknowledged  they 
were,  and  further  asserted  that  whoever  was  the  author  of 
a  report  that  you  had  stated  them  to  be  different,  was  a 
damned  liar  !  The  harshness  of  this  expression  has  deeply 
wounded  my  feelings  ;  it  is  language  to  which  I  am  a 
stranger,  which  no  man,  acquainted  with  my  character, 
would  venture  to  apply  to  me,  and  which,  should  the  in 
formation  of  Mr.  Dickinson  be  correct,  I  shall  be  under 
the  necessity  of  taking  proper  notice  -of.  I  shall  be  at 
Rutherford  court  before  you  will  receive  this,  from  whence 
I  shall  not  return  to  Nashville  before  Thursday  or  Friday, 
at  which  time  I  shall  expect  an  answer.  I  am,  sir,  your 
obedient  servant, 

THOMAS  SWANN 

"  The  Lie  Direct  "       ^>     ^     ^y     ^     ^     ^ 
HERMITAGE,  January  yth,  1806 

nPHOMAS  SWANN,   ESQ.  :  —  Sir,   late   last   evening 

J-     was    handed    me,   among   my   returns   from    Hays- 

borough,  a  letter  from  you,  of  the  3d  inst,  stating  informa 

tion  from  Dickinson,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.     Was  it  not  for  the 

attention  due  to  a  stranger,  taking  into  view  its  tenor  and 

style,  I  should  not  notice  its  receipt.    Had  the  information, 

stated  to  have  been  received  from  Mr.  Dickinson,  stated  a 

3H 


"The  Lie  Direct" 

direct  application  of  harsh  language  to  you  —  had  you  not 
known  that  the  statement,  as  stated  in  your  letter,  was  not 
correct  —  had  it  not  taken  place  in  the  same  house  where 
you  then  were  —  had  not  Mr.  Dickinson  been  applied  to  by 
me  to  bring  you  forward  when  your  name  was  mentioned, 
and  he  declined  —  had  I  not  the  next  morning  had  a  con 
versation  with  you  on  the  same  subject,  and,  lastly,  did 
not  your  letter  hold  forth  a  threat  of  "  proper  notice,"  I 
should  give  your  letter  a  direct  answer.  Let  me,  sir,  ob 
serve  one  thing:  that  I  never  wantonly  sport  with  the 
feelings  of  innocence,  nor  am  I  ever  awed  into  measures. 
If  incautiously  I  inflict  a  wound,  I  always  hasten  to  remove 
it ;  if  offense  is  taken  where  none  is  offered  or  intended,  it 
gives  me  no  pain.  If  a  tale  is  listened  to  many  days  after 
the  discourse  should  have  taken  place,  when  all  parties  are 
under  the  same  roof,  I  always  leave  the  person  to  judge  of 
the  motives  that  induced  the  information,  and  leave  them 
to  draw  their  own  conclusions,  and  act  accordingly.  There 
are  certain  traits  that  always  accompany  the  gentleman 
and  man  of  truth.  The  moment  he  hears  harsh  expressions 
applied  to  a  friend,  he  will  immediately  communicate  it, 
that  explanation  may  take  place ;  when  the  base  poltroon 
and  cowardly  tale-bearer  will  always  act  in  the  background. 
You  can  apply  the  latter  to  Mr.  Dickinson,  and  see  which 
best  fits  him.  I  write  it  for  his  eye,  and  the  latter  I  em 
phatically  intend  for  him.  But,  sir,  it  is  for  you  to  judge 
for  yourself;  draw  your  own  conclusions,  and,  when  your 
judgment  is  matured,  act  accordingly.  When  the  conver 
sation  dropt  between  Mr.  Dickinson  and  myself,  I  thought 
it  was  at  an  end.  As  he  wishes  to  blow  the  coal,  I  am 
ready  to  light  it  to  a  blaze,  that  it  may  be  consumed  at 
once,  and  finally  extinguished.  Mr.  Dickinson  has  given 
you  the  information,  the  subject  of  your  letter.  In  return, 
and  in  justice  to  him,  I  request  you  to  show  him  this.  I 
315 


The  Friendly  Craft 

set  out  this  morning  for  South-West  Point.  I  will  return 
at  a  short  day,  and,  at  all  times,  be  assured  I  hold  myself 
answerable  for  any  of  my  conduct,  and  should  anything 
herein  contained  give  Mr.  Dickinson  the  spleen,  I  will  fur 
nish  him  with  an  anodine  as  soon  as  I  return.  I  am,  sir, 
your  obedient  servant, 

ANDREW  JACKSON 

P.S.  —  There  were  no  notes  delivered  at  the  time  of 
making  the  race,  as  stated  in  your  letter;  nor  was  the 
meeting  between  me  and  Mr.  Dickinson  at  Mr.  Winn^ 
tavern  on  that  subject.  The  subject  of  the  notes  was 
introduced  by  Mr.  Dickinson  as  an  apology  for  his  con 
duct,  the  subject  of  conversation. 


XII 

"QUIPS  AND   CRANKS" 
Three  whimsical  views  of  the  future  estate      ^y      ^^> 

WITH  regard  to  future  bliss,  I  cannot  help  imagining, 
that  multitudes  of  the  zealously  orthodox  of  dif 
ferent  sects,  who  at  the  last   day  may  flock  together  in 
hopes  of  seeing  each  other  damned,  will  be  disappointed, 
and  obliged  to  rest  content  with  their  own  salvation. 

BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN 

I  AM   sure  that  one   of  the  occupations  of  lost   souls 
doomed  to  eternal  punishment  must  be  the  copying  of 
Jonathan  Edwards1  sermons  forever   and   forever  in  just 
such  handwriting  as  I  am  now  joyfully  inflicting  on  you. 
What  a  delightful  torture  it  must  be  to  the  hopelessly  lost 
to  continually  transcribe   in   this  choice  chirography  the 
316 


Eleven  in  A,   B,  Ab 

special    causes,    the   general    grounds,    and    the    absolute 
justice  of  their  damnation. 

JAMES  G.  BLAINE 

GOD    bless   these  surgeons  and  dentists  !     May  their 
good   deeds    be    returned   upon    them    a    thousand 
fold  !    "May  they  have  the  felicity,  in  the  next  world,  to 
have  successful  operations  performed   upon    them    to  all 
eternity  !  WASHINGTON  IRVING 

David  Fowler,  an  Indian  convert,  recounts  his   need 
of  a  Rib        ^>        <o       *o       ^>       x^x       ^> 

(To  the  Rev.  Eleazer  Wheelock) 

I 

£  24.  1765 


HOND  AND  REVD  SIR. 
I  now  write  you  a  few  Lines  just  to  inform  you 
that  I  am  well  at  present,  and  have  been  so  ever  since 
I  left  your  House.  Blessed  be  God  for  his  Goodness  to 
me.  I  am  well  contented  here  as  long  as  I  am  in  such 
great  Business.  My  Scholars  learn  very  well.  I  have  put 
eleven  into  a,  b,  ab,  &c.  I  have  three  more  that  will 
advance  to  that  place  this  Week,  &  some  have  got  to  the 
sixth  page.  It  is  ten  thousand  pities  they  can't  keep 
together.  They  are  often  going  about  to  get  their  Pro 
vision.  One  of  the  Chiefs  in  whose  House  I  keep  told  me 
he  believed  some  of  the  Indians  would  starve  to  Death  this 
Summer.  Some  of  them  have  almost  consumed  all  their 
Corn  already. 

I  came  too  late  this  Spring.     I  could  not  put  any  Thing 
into  the  Ground.     I  hope  I  shall  next  year.     I  believe  I 
317 


The  Friendly   Craft 

shall  persuade  all  the  Men  in  this  Castle,  at  least  the  most 
of  them  to  labour  next  Year.  They  begin  to  see  now  that 
they  would  live  better  if  they  cultivated  their  Lands  than 
they  do  now  by  Hunting  &  Fishing.  These  Men  are  the 
laziest  Crew  I  ever  saw  in  all  my  Days.  Their  Women 
will  get  up  early  in  the  Morning,  and  be  pounding  Corn 
for  Breakfast,  and  they  (the  men)  be  sleeping  till  the 
Victuals  is  almost  ready,  and  as  soon  as  the  Breakfast  is 
over,  the  Women  take  up  their  axes  &  Hoes  &  away  to  the 
Fields,  and  leave  their  Children  with  the  Men  to  tend. 
You  may  see  half  a  dozen  walking  about  with  Children 
upon  their  Backs  —  lazy  and  sordid  Wretches  —  but  they 
are  to  be  pitied. 

I  have  been  miserably  off  for  an  Interpreter —  I  can  say 
but  very  little  to  them.  I  hope  by  next  spring  I  shall  be 
my  own  Interpreter. 

It  is  very  hard  to  live  here  without  the  other  Bone.  I 
must  be  obliged  to  wash  &  mend  my  Clothes  &  cook  all 
my  Victuals,  &  wash  all  the  Things  I  use,  which  is  exceed 
ing  hard.  I  shan't  be  able  to  employ  my  Vacant  hours  in 
improving  their  Lands  as  I  should  do  if  I  had  a  Cook  here. 

I  received  a  letter  from  Mr  Kirtland  last  Sabbath  wherein 
he  informs  me  that  the  Indians  who  accompanied  him  left 
him  with  all  his  heavy  pack.  He  had  the  most  fatiguing 
Journey  this  Time  he  ever  had.  He  designs  to  come 
down  to  get  Provision,  and  if  he  don't  he  will  eat  no  Bread 
till  Indian  Harvest,  and  his  Meat  is  merely  rotten  having 
no  Salt. 

May  the  Blessing  of  Heaven  rest  on  you. 

Your  affectionate  tho  unworthy  Pupil 

DAVID  FOWLER 


Picking  out  a  Rib 


II 

CANOWAROHARE,  May  13,  1766 
TEVEREND  SIR 


I  am  very  sorry  I  can't  write  you  a  Letter  which  can 
be  seen  abroad,  because  Mr  Kirtland  is  so  much  hurried 
to  get  down  :  but  he  can  give  you  a  proper  Idea  of  my 
School  and  my  own  Affairs.  —  I  believe  I  may  venter  to 
write  my  secrets  to  you  as  I  wont  to  do,  since  I  have  so 
often  seen  and  felt  your  tender  Care  and  Affections. 
I  have  wrote  a  large  Letter  to  Hannah  Pyamphcouh  which 
will  either  spur  her  up  or  knock  her  in  Head.  —  I  there 
fore  ask  a  Favour  as  a  Child  from  kind  Father  or  Bene 
factor,  that  this  Letter  may  be  sent  to  the  Supperscrib'd 
Place  as  soon  as  you  get  it  into  your  Hands.  For  I  shall 
be  down  the  13  or  14  of  June  and  in  very  great  Hast.  I 
must  tarry  at  your  House  a  Week  or  ten  Days  the  longest 
to  shed  my  skin,  for  I  am  almost  nacked  now.  I  want  all 
my  Cloaths  to  be  blue  and  that  which  is  good  :  The  Rea 
son  why  I  want  this  Letter  to  get  down  so  soon  is  that 
she  may  have  some  time  to  think  and  dress  herself  up,  & 
another  which  is  the  greatest  that  I  may  clear  myself  from 
those  strong  Bonds  wherewith  I  bound  myself  to  her  and 
which  could  not  let  me  rest  Night  and  Day  from  the  time 
I  left  her  till  I  returned  to  her  again,  what  I  mean  about 
clearing  myself  is  if  she  denies.  If  she  won't  let  her 
Bones  be  join'd  with  mine  I  shall  pick  out  my  Rib  from 
your  House. 

Sir,  Dont  be  angry  with  me  for  write  [ing]  so  bold  and 
foolish.  I  hope  you  will  not  expose  me  —  Give  my  Kind 
Regards  Mrs.  Wheelock  and  Sir  Wheelock  and  to  all  the 
Family.  Accept  much  Love  and  Duty  from 

Your  unworthy  Pupil 

DAVID  FOWLER 
319 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Rufus  Choate  is  guilty  of  contempt  of  court     ^^y    ^y 

DEAR  SIR,  —  The  Court  has  lost  its  little  wits.     Please 
let  me  have —  i.    Our  brief,  (for  the  law.)      2.    The 
defendant's  brief,   (for  the  sophistry.)      3.    The  opinion, 
(for  the  foolishness,)  and  never  say  die. 

R.  C. 

Lyman  Beecher  sends  a  telegram  ^y     ^^     -s^ 

(Thomas  K.  Beecher  to  his  brother) 

DEAR  CHARLEY,— 
...  I  remember  an  earnestness  which  used  to  be 
tray  father  into  a  curious  repetition  whenever  he  would 
bend  his  energies  to  a  profitable  exhortation  anent  my 
waywardness  :  "  This  is  the  most  important  year  of  your 
life,  my  son;  you  have  come  to  the  turning-point  of  your 
history.'1  The  first  time  he  told  me  so  I  was  a  lad  just 
turned  eleven  years  ;  and  by  many  letters  and  words  I  was 
certified  four  times  a  year  or  oftener  that  I  was  at  an  "im 
portant,'1  "critical,11  "decisive11  turning-point  in  my  career, 
until  I  became  a  teacher  at  Philadelphia.  In  1846-7  father 
was  sorely  exercised  by  the  severity  of  my  work  in  Phila 
delphia.  He  feared  a  sudden  break-down.  His  urgency 
could  not  abide  the  slowness  of  the  mail ;  he  must  save 
me  by  telegraph  —  I  suspect,  his  very  first  telegram. 
Aided  by  a  daughter,  he  undertook  his  costly  ten  words  to 
save  a  son  thus  : 

"  MY  VERY  DEAR  SON, —  I  have  worked  more11  — 

Daughter.     "  Father,  father,  you  can't  write  so  much ; 
don't  say  My  very  dear  Son." 

"DEAR  SON,  —  Trust  a  father's  experience,  and.  let  me 
tell  you'1  — 

Daughter.     "  No,  no,  father,  skip  all   that.     You  can't 
make  love  by  telegraph.     Tom  knows  your  love." 
320 


The  Telegram  Achieved 

An  hour  was  spent  learning  how  to  suppress  his  exuber 
ant  affection,  till  at  last  the  message  came  into  shape  thus  : 

"  Ease  up.  Rest  —  sleep  —  exercise.  Cold  water  —  rub. 
No  tobacco.  —  FATHER" 

Some  books  of  health  contain  less  than  this  tele 
gram.  .  .  . 

A  modest  request  ^y     ^>     ^^    <^y     ^^     <^ 

,  March  24,  1877 

BAYARD  TAYLOR:— 
Dear  Sir,  —  Hearing  that  you  are  a  poet  of  some 
note  as  well  as  a  good  Oration  writer  I  come  to  ask 
you  this  question  and  I  would  like  very  much  to  have  an 
answer  in  one  or  two  days  as  no  doubt  you  can  write  a  very 
good  Oration  if  so  Let  me  know  your  price  and  if  you  can 
not  write  an  Oration  please  let  me  know  of  any  one  that 
can  please  do  not  do  as  others  do  but  answer  my  letter 
as  soon  as  you  can  and  also  state  your  price  of  writing  one 
for  me,  in  every  case  in  writing  directions  give  no  of  Box 
or  Street.  Yours  Very  Truly 

P.O.  Box  98. 

P.S.  Give  price  and  also  subject  which  you  would  write 
on. 

P.S.  Please  give  me  the  directions  of  E.  C.  Stedman  and 
W.  H.  Stoddard  and  much  oblige  Yours  Truly, 


321 


The  Friendly  Craft 

XIII 

COURTESIES   OF   THE   CRAFT 

General  Washington   waxes   facetious   over  a  dinner 
invitation  ^y     ^>     ^y      ^^     x^,     ^^      x^, 

(To  Dr.  John  Cochrane) 

WEST-POINT,  16  August,  1779 

DR.  DOCTOR, 
I  have  asked  Mrs.  Cochran  &  Mrs.  Livingston  to 
dine  with  me  to-morrow ;  but  am  I  not  in  honor  bound 
to  apprize  them  of  their  fare?  As  I  hate  deception,  even 
where  the  imagination  only  is  concerned;  I  will.  It  is 
needless  to  premise,  that  my  table  is  large  enough  to 
hold  the  ladies.  Of  this  they  had  ocular  proof  yesterday. 
To  say  how  it  is  usually  covered,  is  rather  more  essen 
tial  ;  and  this  shall  be  the  purport  of  my  Letter. 

Since  our  arrival  at  this  happy  spot,  we  have  had  a 
ham,  (sometimes  a  shoulder)  of  Bacon,  to  grace  the 
head  of  the  Table;  a  piece  of  roast  Beef  adorns  the 
foot ;  and  a  dish  of  beans,  or  greens,  (almost  impercepti 
ble,)  decorates  the  center.  When  the  cook  has  a  mind 
to  cut  a  figure,  (which  I  presume  will  be  the  case  to 
morrow,)  we  have  two  Beef-steak  pyes,  or  dishes  of  crabs, 
in  addition,  one  on  each  side  the  center  dish,  dividing 
the  space  &  reducing  the  distance  between  dish  &  dish 
to  about  6  feet  which  without  them  would  be  near  12  feet 
apart.  Of  late  he  has  had  the  surprising  sagacity  to 
discover,  that  apples  will  make  pyes  ;  and  its  a  question, 
if,  in  the  violence  of  his  efforts,  we  do  not  get  one  of 
apples,  instead  of  having  both  of  Beef-steaks.  If  the 
ladies  can  put  up  with  such  entertainment,  and  will  submit 
322 


A  Cautious   Female 

to  partake  of  it  on  plates,  once  Tin  but  now  Iron — (not 
become  so  by  the  labor  of  scouring),  I  shall  be  happy 
to  see  them ;  and  am,  dear  Doctor,  yours,  &c.  .  .  . 

Aaron  Burr  regrets      *^y     ^*     x^>     x^     x^     ^> 
NEW-YORK,  April  18,  1804 

"\7OUR  vanity,  if  in  any  degree  concerned,  will  be 
-L  fully  satisfied  by  the  assurance  that  my  heart,  my 
wishes,  and  my  thoughts  will  be  with  you.  The  mortal 
part  of  me  is  indispensably  otherwise  engaged.  As  you 
cannot  fail  to  have  admirers,  you  cannot  fail  to  be  amused. 
Knowing  that  you  are  happy,  I  shall  be  so  by  sympathy, 
though  in  a  less  degree,  as  reflected  light  is  less  potent 
than  direct. 

A.  BURR 

Dr.  Holmes  accepts     x^»     x^y     ^y     *Qy     <^     *^ 
296  BEACON  STREET,  February  n,  1862 

MY  DEAR  MR.  FIELDS,  — On  Friday  evening  last 
I  white-cravated  myself,  took  a  carriage,  and  found 
myself  at  your  door  at  eight  of  the  clock  P.M. 

A  cautious  female  responded  to  my  ring,  and  opened 
the  chained  portal  about  as  far  as  a  clam  opens  his  shell 
to  see  what  is  going  on  in  Cambridge  Street,  where  he 
is  waiting  for  a  customer. 

Her  first  glance  impressed  her  with  the  conviction  that 
I  was  a  burglar.  The  mild  address  with  which  I  accosted 
her  removed  that  impression,  and  I  rose  in  the  moral 
scale  to  the  comparatively  elevated  position  of  what  the 
unfeeling  world  calls  a  "  sneak -thief.'1 

By  dint,  however,  of  soft  words,  and  that  look  of  ingenu 
ous  simplicity  by  which  I  am  so  well  known  to  you  and 
323 


The   Friendly  Craft 

all  my  friends,  I  coaxed   her  into   the   belief  that  I  was 
nothing  worse  than  a  rejected  contributor,  an  autograph 
collector,  an  author  with  a  volume  of  poems  to  dispose  of, 
or  other  disagreeable  but  not  dangerous  character. 
She  unfastened  the  chain,  and  I  stood  before  her. 

I  calmed  her  fears,  and  she  was  calm 
And  told 

me  how  you  and  Mrs.  F.  had  gone  to  New  York,  and 
how  she  knew  nothing  of  any  literary  debauch  that  was 
to  come  off  under  your  roof,  but  would  go  and  call  another 
unprotected  female  who  knew  the  past,  present,  and  future, 
and  could  tell  me  why  this  was  thus,  that  I  had  been 
lured  from  my  fireside  by  the  ignis  fatuus  of  a  deceptive 
invitation. 

It  was  my  turn  to  be  afraid,  alone  in  the  house  with  two 
of  the  stronger  sex  ;  and  I  retired. 

On  reaching  home,  I  read  my  note  and  found  it  was 
Friday  the  i6th,  not  the  Qth,  I  was  invited  for.  .  .  . 

Dear  Mr.  Fields,  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  come  to  your 
home  on  Friday  evening,  the  i6th  February,  at  eight 
o'clock,  to  meet  yourself  and  Mrs.  Fields,  and  hear  Mr. 
James  read  his  paper  on  Emerson.  .  .  . 

A  dinner  note  from  Daniel  Webster    ^-       ^>       ^y 
(To  Mrs.  Fletcher  Webster) 

DEAR    CAROLINE,  (Daughter  Caroline  —  not   wife 
Caroline). 

I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  enjoy  the  luxury  of  a  dish  of 
baked  beans  today  —  but  am  willing  to  dine  with  you,  & 
shall  do  so  with  great  pleasure,  if  you  will  let  me  br'g  my 
beans  with  me —  Therefore,  look  out  for  me  &  the  beans, 
already  cooked,  at  2  O  clock. 

D.  W. 
324 


Words  of  Wisdom 

XIV 

THE   FINE   ART   OF   LIVING 
"  These  few  precepts "      ^^      ^x      ^y      ^^      ^> 

(Thomas  Jefferson  to  Thomas  Jefferson  Smith) 

THIS  letter  will,  to  you,  be  as  one  from  the  dead.  The 
writer  will  be  in  the  grave  before  you  can  weigh  its 
counsels.  Your  affectionate  and  excellent  father  has  re 
quested  that  I  would  address  to  you  something  which 
might  possibly  have  a  favorable  influence  on  the  course  of 
life  you  have  to  run ;  and  I  too,  as  a  namesake,  feel  an 
interest  in  that  course.  Few  words  will  be  necessary,  with 
good  dispositions  on  your  part.  Adore  God.  Reverence 
and  cherish  your  parents.  Love  your  neighbor  as  your 
self,  and  your  country  more  than  yourself.  Be  just.  Be 
true.  Murmur  not  at  the  ways  of  Providence.  So  shall 
the  life  into  which  you  have  entered,  be  the  portal  to  one 
of  eternal  and  ineffable  bliss.  And  if  to  the  dead  it  is 
permitted  to  care  for  the  things  of  this  world,  every  action 
of  your  life  will  be  under  my  regard.  Farewell. 

MONTICELLO,  February  2ist,  1825 

From  S.  N.  Randolph's  "  Domestic  Life  of  Thomas  Jefferson,"  published  by 
Harper  &  Brothers. 

Benjamin  Franklin  shuffles  the  cards  and  begins  an 
other  game          ^>      <^>      x^      ^>      ^>      ^> 
(To  Mrs.  Mary  Hewson,  May  6,  1786) 
HAVE  found  my  family  here  in  health,  good  cir 
cumstances,   and  well  respected  by  their  fellow 
citizens.    The  companions  of  my  youth  are  indeed  almost  all 
departed,  but  I  find  an  agreeable  society  among  their  chil 
dren  and  grandchildren.     I  have  public  business  enough 
325 


I 


The  Friendly  Craft 

to  preserve  me  from  ennui,  and  private  amusement  besides 
in  conversation,  books,  my  garden,  and  cribbage.  Consid 
ering  our  well-furnished,  plentiful  market  as  the  best  of 
gardens,  I  am  turning  mine,  in  the  midst  of  which  my 
house  stands,  into  grass  plots  and  gravel  walks,  with  trees 
and  flowering  shrubs.  Cards  we  sometimes  play  here,  in 
long  winter  evenings ;  but  it  is  as  they  play  at  chess,  not 
for  money,  but  for  honor,  or  the  pleasure  of  beating  one 
another.  This  will  not  be  quite  a  novelty  to  you,  as  you 
may  remember  we  played  together  in  that  manner  during 
the  winter  at  Passy. 

I  have  indeed  now  and  then  a  little  compunction  in  reflect 
ing  that  I  spend  time  so  idly  ;  but  another  reflection  comes 
to  relieve  me,  whispering,  "  You  know  that  the  soul  is  im 
mortal',  why  then  should  yoii  be  such  a  niggard  of  a  little 
time,  when  you  have  a  whole  eternity  before  you?"  So, 
being  easily  convinced,  and,  like  other  reasonable  crea 
tures,  satisfied  with  a  small  reason,  when  it  is  in  favor  of 
doing  what  I  have  a  mind  to,  I  shuffle  the  cards  again,  and 
begin  another  game.  .  .  . 

The  futility  of  mere  feeling  ^^      ^^      ^v      ^^     ^^ 
(William  Ellery  Channing  to  William  Shaw) 

MY  DEAR  FELLOW,  —  ...  My  whole  life  has 
been  a  struggle  with  my  feelings.  Last  winter  I 
thought  myself  victorious.  But  earth-born  Antaeus  has 
risen  stronger  than  ever.  I  repeat  it,  my  whole  life  has 
been  a  struggle  with  my  feelings.  Ask  those  with  whom  I 
have  lived,  and  they  will  tell  you  that  I  am  a  stoic.  I  al 
most  thought  so  myself.  But  I  only  smothered  a  fire 
which  will  one  day  consume  me.  I  sigh  for  tranquil  happi 
ness.  I  have  long  wished  that  my  days  might  flow  along 
like  a  gentle  stream  which  fertilizes  its  banks  and  reflects 
326 


A  Pretty  Sonnet 

in  its  clear  surface  the  face  of  heaven.  But  I  can  only  wish 
it.  I  still  continue  sanguine,  ardent,  and  inconstant.  .  .  . 
The  other  day,  I  handed  to  a  lady  a  sonnet  of  Southey's, 
which  had  wrung  tears  from  me.  "  It  is  pretty,"  said  she, 
with  a  smile.  "Pretty!"  echoed  I,  as  I  looked  at  her; 
"  Pretty  !  "  I  went  home.  As  I  grew  composed,  I  could 
not  help  reflecting  that  the  lady  who  had  made  this  answer 
was  universally  esteemed  for  her  benevolence.  I  knew 
that  she  was  goodness  itself.  But  still  she  wanted  feeling. 
"  And  what  is  feeling  ?  "  said  I  to  myself.  I  blushed  when 
I  thought  more  on  the  subject.  I  found  that  the  mind  was 
just  as  passive  in  that  state  which  I  called  "  feeling,"  as 
when  it  received  any  impressions  of  sense.  One  conse 
quence  immediately  struck  me,  that  there  was  no  moral 
merit  in  possessing  feeling.  Of  course  there  can  be  no 
crime  in  wanting  it.  "Well,11  continued  I,  "I  have  just 
been  treating  with  contempt  a  woman  of  active  benevo 
lence,  for  not  possessing  what  I  must  own  it  is  no  crime  to 
want.  Is  this  just  ? "  I  then  went  on  to  consider, 
whether  there  were  not  many  persons  who  possessed  this 
boasted  feelin-g,  but  who  were  still  deficient  in  active  be 
nevolence.  A  thousand  instances  occurred  to  me.  I 
found  myself  among  the  number.  "  It  is  true,"  said  I, 
"  that  I  sit  in  my  study  and  shed  tears  over  human  misery. 
I  weep  over  a  novel.  I  weep  over  a  tale  of  human  woe. 
But  do  I  ever  relieve  the  distressed  ?  Have  I  ever  light 
ened  the  load  of  affliction  ?  "  My  cheeks  reddened  at  the 
question  ;  a  cloud  of  error  burst  from  my  mind.  I  found 
that  virtue  did  not  consist  in  feeling,  but  in  acting  from  a 
sense  of  duty.  .  .  . 


327 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Henry  D.  Thoreau  advocates  Work  —  Work  —  Work 
CONCORD,  December  19,  1853 

MR.  BLAKE,  — My  debt  has  accumulated  so  that  I 
should  have  answered  your  last  letter  at  once,  if  I 
had  not  been  the  subject  of  what  is  called  a  press  of  en 
gagements,  having  a  lecture  to  write  for  last  Wednesday, 
and  surveying  more  than  usual  besides.  It  has  been  a 
kind  of  running  fight  with  me,  —  the  enemy  not  always 
behind  me  I  trust. 

True,  a  man  cannot  lift  himself  by  his  own  waistbands, 
because  he  cannot  get  out  of  himself;  but  he  can  expand 
himself  (which  is  better,  there  being  no  up  nor  down  in 
nature),  and  so  split  his  waistbands,  being  already  within 
himself. 

You  speak  of  doing  and  being,  and  the  vanity,  real  or 
apparent,  of  much  doing.  The  suckers  —  I  think  it  is  they 
—  make  nests  in  our  river  in  the  spring  of  more  than  a 
cart-load  of  small  stones,  amid  which  to  deposit  their  ova. 
The  other  day  I  opened  a  muskrafs  house.  It  was  made 
of  weeds,  five  feet  broad  at  base,  and  three  feet  high,  and 
far  and  low  within  it  was  a  little  cavity,  only  a  foot  in 
diameter,  where  the  rat  dwelt.  It  may  seem  trivial,  this 
piling  up  of  weeds,  but  so  the  race  of  muskrats  is  pre 
served.  We  must  heap  up  a  great  pile  of  doing,  for  a  small 
diameter  of  being.  Is  it  not  imperative  on  us  that  we  do 
something,  if  we  only  work  in  a  treadmill  ?  And,  indeed, 
some  sort  of  revolving  is  necessary  to  produce  a  centre  and 
nucleus  of  being.  What  exercise  is  to  the  body,  employ 
ment  is  to  the  mind  and  morals.  Consider  what  an 
amount  of  drudgery  must  be  performed  —  how  much 
humdrum  and  prosaic  labor  goes  to  any  work  of  the  least 
value.  There  are  so  many  layers  of  mere  white  lime  in 
every  shell  to  that  thin  inner  one  so  beautifully  tinted. 
328 


The   Discipline  of  Work 

Let  not  the  shellfish  think  to  build  his  house  of  that  alone ; 
and  pray,  what  are  its  tints  to  him  ?  Is  it  not  his  smooth, 
close-fitting  shirt  merely,  whose  tints  are  not  to  him,  being 
in  the  dark,  but  only  when  he  is  gone  or  dead,  and  his 
shell  is  heaved  up  to  light,  a  wreck  upon  the  beach,  do 
they  appear.  With  him,  too,  it  is  a  Song  of  the  Shirt, 
"Work,  —  work,  —  work!"  And  the  work  is  not  merely 
a  police  in  the  gross  sense,  but  in  the  higher  sense  a  dis 
cipline.  If  it  is  surely  the  means  to  the  highest  end  we 
know,  can  any  work  be  humble  or  disgusting  ?  Will  it  not 
rather  be  elevating  as  a  ladder,  the  means  by  which  we  are 
translated  ? 

How  admirably  the  artist  is  made  to  accomplish  his 
self-culture  by  devotion  to  his  art !  The  wood-sawyer, 
through  his  effort  to  do  his  work  well,  becomes  not  merely 
a  better  wood-sawyer,  but  measurably  a  better  man. 
Few  are  the  men  that  can  work  on  their  navels,  —  only 
some  Brahmins  that  I  have  heard  of.  To  the  painter  is 
given  some  paint  and  canvas  instead ;  to  the  Irishman  a 
hog,  typical  of  himself.  In  a  thousand  apparently  humble 
ways  men  busy  themselves  to  make  some  right  take  the 
place  of  some  wrong,  —  if  it  is  only  to  make  a  better  paste 
blacking,  — and  they  are  themselves  so  much  the  better 
morally  for  it. 

You  say  that  you  do  not  succeed  much.  Does  it  con 
cern  you  enough  that  you  do  not  ?  Do  you  work  hard 
enough  at  it  ?  Do  you  get  the  benefit  of  discipline  out  of 
it  ?  If  so,  persevere.  Is  it  a  more  serious  thing  than  to 
walk  a  thousand  miles  in  a  thousand  successive  hours  ? 
Do  you  get  any  corns  by  it  ?  Do  you  ever  think  of  hang 
ing  yourself  on  account  of  failure  ? 

If  you  are  going  into  that  line,  —  going  to  besiege  the 
city  of  God,  —  you  must  not  only  be  strong  in  engines,  but 
prepared  with  provisions  to  starve  out  the  garrison.     An 
329 


The   Friendly  Craft 

Irishman  came  to  see  me  to-day,  who  is  endeavoring  to  get 
his  family  out  to  this  New  World.  He  rises  at  half  past 
four,  milks  twenty-eight  cows  (which  has  swrollen  the  joints 
of  his  ringers),  and  eats  Jus  breakfast,  without  any  milk  in- 
his  tea  or  coffee,  before  six ;  and  so  on,  day  after  day,  for 
six  and  a  half  dollars  a  month  ;  and  thus  he  keeps  his 
virtue  in  him,  if  he  does  not  add  to  it ;  and  he  regards  me 
as  a  gentleman  able  to  assist  him  ;  but  if  I  ever  get  to  be 
a  gentleman,  it  will  be  by  working  after  my  fashion  harder 
than  he  does.  If  my  joints  are  not  swollen,  it  must  be 
because  I  deal  with  the  teats  of  celestial  cows  before 
breakfast  (and  the  milker  in  this  case  is  always  allowed 
some  of  the  milk  for  his  breakfast),  to  say  nothing  of  the 
flocks  and  herds  of  Admetus  afterward. 

It  is  the  art  of  mankind  to  polish  the  world,  and  every 
one  who  works  is  scrubbing  in  some  part. 

If  the  work  is  high  and  far, 

You  must  not  only  aim  aright, 

But  draw  the  bow  with  all  your  might. 

You  must  qualify  yourself  to  use  a  bow  which  no  humbler 
archer  can  bend. 

"  Work,  —  work,  —  work  !  " 

Who  shall  know  it  for  a  bow  ?  It  is  not  of  yew  tree.  It  is 
straighter  than  a  ray  of  light ;  flexibility  is  not  known  for 
one  of  its  qualities. 

December  22 

So  far  I  had  got  when  I  was  called  off  to  survey.  .  .  . 

Those  Brahmins  "  put  it  through. "  They  come  off,  or 
rather  stand  still,  conquerors,  with  some  withered  arms  or 
legs  at  least  to  show ;  and  they  are  said  to  have  cultivated 
the  faculty  of  abstraction  to  a  degree  unknown  to  Euro 
peans.  If  we  cannot  sing  of  faith  and  triumph,  we  will 
sing  our  despair.  We  will  be  that  kind  of  bird.  There 
330 


Go  Ahead 

are  day  owls,  and  there  are  night  owls,  and  each  is  beauti 
ful  and  even  musical  while  about  its  business. 

Might  you  not  find  some  positive  work  to  do  with  your 
back  to  Church  and  State,  letting  your  back  do  all  the 
rejection  of  them  ?  Can  you  not^tf  upon  your  pilgrimage, 
Peter,  along  the  winding  mountain  path  whither  you  face  ? 
A  step  more  will  make  those  funeral  church  bells  over  your 
shoulder  sound  far  and  sweet  as  a  natural  sound. 

"  Work,  —  work,  —  work." 

Why  not  make  a  very  large  mud  pie  and  bake  it  in  the 
sun  !  Only  put  no  Church  nor  State  into  it,  nor  upset  any 
other  pepper-box  that  way.  Dig  out  a  woodchuck,  —  for 
that  has  nothing  to  do  with  rotting  institutions.  Go 
ahead.  .  .  . 

You  said  that  you  were  writing  on  Immortality.  I  wish 
you  would  communicate  to  me  what  you  know  about  that. 
You  are  sure  to  live  while  that  is  your  theme. 

Thus  I  write  on  some  text  which  a  sentence  of  your  let 
ters  may  have  furnished. 

I  think  of  coming  to  see  you  as  soon  as  I  get  a  new  coat, 
if  I  have  money  enough  left.  I  will  write  to  you  again 
about  it.  ... 

Erreur  Men  douloureuse  *^>       *^>       <^>       <^> 

(Edwin  Lawrence  Godkin  to  Miss  Tuckerman) 

NEW  YORK,  Oct.  13,  1897 

MY  DEAR  EMILY :- 
I  have  sent  the  extract  for  publication,  and  it  will 
appear  on  Saturday.     But  I  hesitate  to  promise  a  blood 
curdling  editorial  so  soon. 

I  wish,  I  must  confess  that  you  were  more  interested  in 
men  and  less' in  trees.     As   far  as  I  can   see,  the  great 
interests  of  civilization  in  this  country  are  being  left  pretty 
331 


The  Friendly  Craft 

much  to  women.  The  men  have  thrown  themselves 
pretty  much  into  simple  money-making.  You  have  no 
idea  how  they  shirk  everything  which  interferes  with  this, 
how  cowardly  they  have  grown  about  everything  which 
threatens  pecuniary  loss.  It  is  the  women  who  are  caring 
for  the  things  which  most  distinguish  civilized  men  from 
savages.  But  the  best  women  are  leaving  no  descendants. 
They  train  no  men.  The  best  I  know  do  not  marry,  so 
that  society  gets  but  little  from  them.  I  know  a  dozen  who 
will  pass  away  leaving  nothing  but  gracious  memories. 
You  are  one  of  them.  You  think  apparently  that  you  are 
serving  the  State  sufficiently  by  attention  to  forests  and 
infant  schools.  Erreur,  erreur  bien  douloureuse !  I  do 
do  not  know  what  the  future  of  our  modern  civilization 
is  to  be.  But  I  stumble  where  I  firmly  trod.  I  do  not 
think  things  are  going  well  with  us  in  spite  of  our  rail 
roads  and  bridges.  Among  the  male  sex  something  is 
wanting,  something  tremendous.  .  .  . 

"  The  hour  of  peaceful  rest  "      -<^>      <^>      <^>      ^> 
(Theodore  Parker  to  Miss  Hunt) 

BOSTON,  Saturday  Night,  Oct.  31,  1857 

MY  DEAR  LITTLE  MITE  O1  SARAH,  away  off  at 
Florence,  —  It  is  All  Saints1  Eve  to-night,  and  my 
sermon  has  been  long  since  ended,  the  last  word  added  at 
the  end,  and  I  have  had  a  little  time  to  gather  up  my  soul 
for  the  coming  Sunday.  I  donH  like  to  rush  from  a  week 
of  hard  work  into  the  prayers  and  hymns  of  the  Sunday 
without  a  little  breathing  time  of  devotion,  so  I  walk  about 
the  study,  and  hum  over  bits  of  hymns,  or  recall  various 
little  tender  emotions,  and  feel  the  beating  of  that  great 
Heart  of  the  Universe  which  warms  us  all  with  the  life  that 
never  dies.  I  don't  know  that  these  are  not  the  richest 
332 


Prisms  and  Rainbows 

hours  of  my  life ;    certainly  they  have   always   been   the 
happiest.  .  .  . 


I 


An  antidote  for  age     ^^      <^x     <^>     ^x     ^-     *Q> 

(Lydia  Maria  Child  to  Mrs.  S.  B.  Shaw.  1868) 
READ  only  "  chipper  "  books.  I  hang  prisms  in 
my  windows  to  fill  the  room  with  rainbows ;  I 
gaze  at  all  the  bright  pictures  in  shop  windows ;  I  culti 
vate  the  gayest  flowers;  I  seek  cheerfulness  in  every 
possible  way.  This  is  my  "  necessity  in  being  old." 

"  In  the  half  way  house  "     x^      x^>      ^^      ^>     ^> 

(From  Mrs.  Caroline  C.  Briggs) 

June  24,  1883 

.  .  .  T  THINK  of  you  very  often,  and  \vish  that  you  could 
J-  get  out  more  freely  into  the  beautiful  world,  so 
full  of  bloom  and  fragrance.  Perhaps  it  never  seemed  to 
me  so  full  of  charm.  I  think  my  little  trouble,  which  has 
shut  me  out  from  some  other  things  because  I  have  not 
been  very  strong,  has  left  my  heart  very  free  for  all  the 
beauty  of  nature.  Every  morning  when  I  open  my  eyes  to 
the  gladsomeness  of  it  all,  when  the  birds  are  so  joyful, 
and  all  is  so  dewy  and  fresh,  I  have  a  feeling  of  thanks 
giving.  The  days  pass  quickly,  —  not  much  work  done, 
nor  even  the  desire  for  it.  After  dinner  a  lying  off,  half 
undressed,  with  a  book  of  some  sort ;  late  in  the  afternoon 
a  charming  drive  with  my  friend,  with  dear  old  Dom,  with 
his  patient  recognition  of  all  one's  moods,  and  always 
offering  for  acceptance  the  best  that  is  in  him  in  his  meek 
fashion.  The  whole  world  is  clothed  in  blossoms  and 
full  of  song  and  sweetness ;  beautiful  butterflies,  yellow 
and  black,  of  the  richest  browns,  or  black  and  blue; 
333 


The  Friendly  Craft 

dragon-flies,  bees,  chirping  crickets,  brooks  that  babble  in 
the  meadows  or  sing  softly  in  the  woods  ;  fields  all  sprinkled 
with  daisies  and  buttercups ;  the  roadsides  a  tangle  of 
tenderest  green  and  sweet  vines  ;  all  and  everything  in  the 
full  tide  of  beauty  ;  life  for  all  and  to  spare  ;  the  cows  and 
calves  ;  goats  with  their  little  kids  ;  stealthy,  graceful  cats 
stealing  through  the  grass;  blossoming  clover,  and  the 
pretty  spring  flowers  creeping  away  till  the  sight  of  one  is 
a  variety. 

One  is  so  grateful  for  it  all,  so  thankful  that  it  comes  to 
them  so  joyfully,  —  age,  care,  pain,  and  regret  banished, — 
so  has  it  come  to  me,  and  I  have  accepted  it  almost  as  my 
right.  What  do  I  accomplish  for  my  fellow-creatures? 
Nothing ;  yet  I  am  content  in  a  strange  way  which  I  don't 
half  understand.  It  is  not  quite  self-indulgence,  but  it  is 
like  sitting  in  the  twilight  with  the  day's  work  done,  with 
folded  hands,  listening  to  the  psalm  which  is  going  up 
from  the  whole  world,  and  looking  at  the  beautiful  vision 
of  earth,  sky,  and  pictured  water,  all  rejoicing  in  the  smile 
of  the  eternal.  I  feel  myself  in  a  strange  mood,  almost 
like  another  person,  but  I  do  not  struggle.  While  I  trust 
the  day  will  come  for  me  for  more  and  better  work,  some 
how  it  seems  meet  to  rest  now,  and  I  rest  and  am  thank 
ful.  .  .  . 

The  dominant  will      ^>      ^o      ^>      *v>y      ^y      *o> 

(Charles  Godfrey  Leland  to  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Robins 

Pennell) 
HOTEL  VICTORIA,  FLORENCE,  Dec.  nth,  1897 

NEVER  knew  nor  heard  of  any  human  being 
who  lives  so  secluded  as  I  do.     I  am  in  love 
with  —  absorbed  and  buried  in  work.     I  am,  if  anything, 
rather  better  or  stronger  than  I  was  a  year  ago,  and  keep 
334 


I 


In   Love  with  Work 

perfectly  well.  I  attribute  this  to  cultivating  the  Will,  01 
maintained  mental  resolution,  which  has  opened  to  me 
during  the  past  year  a  new  life.  Thus  it  is  really  true  that, 
in  all  my  life,  I  never  could  write  or  work  so  many  hours 
in  succession  —  in  fact  I  never  tire,  though  I  work  all  my 
waking  minutes  —  as  now.  This  is  absolutely  due  to  the 
habit  formed  of  every  night  resolving  and  repeating,  with 
all  my  Will,  that  I  will  work  con  amore  all  day  long  to 
morrow.  I  have  also  found  that  if  we  resolve  to  be  vigor 
ous  of  body  and  of  mind,  calm,  collected,  cheerful,  etc., 
that  we  can  effect  marvels,  for  it  is  certainly  true  that  after 
a  while  the  Spirit  or  will  does  haunt  us  unconsciously  and 
marvellously.  I  have,  I  believe,  half  changed  my  nature 
under  this  discipline.  I  will  continually  to  be  free  from 
folly,  envy,  irritability,  and  vanity,  to  forgive  and  forget  — 
and  I  have  found,  by  willing  and  often  recurring  to  it,  that, 
while  I  am  far  from  being  exempt  from  fault,  I  have  elimi 
nated  a  vast  mass  of  it  from  my  mind.  Such  things  do 
not  involuntarily  occur  now  without  prompt  correction,  — 
when  they  come  and  I  think  of  old  wrongs,  troubles,  etc., 
I  at  once  say,  "Ah,  there  you  are  —  begone  !"  If  I  had 
begun  this  by  hypnotizing  myself  long  ago,  I  should,  to 
judge  from  recent  experience,  have  attained  to  the  miracu 
lous.  I  begin  to  realize  in  very  fact  that  there  are  tre 
mendous  powers,  quite  unknown  to  us,  in  the  mind,  and 
that  we  can  perhaps  by  long  continued  steady  will  awake 
abilities  of  which  we  never  dreamed.  Thus  you  can  by 
repetition  will  yourself  to  notice  hundreds  of  things  which 
used  to  escape  you,  and  this  soon  begins  to  appear  to  be 
miraculous.  You  must  will  and  think  the  things  over  and 
over  as  if  learning  a  lesson,  saying  or  rather  thinking  to 
yourself  intently,  "I  will  that  all  day  to-morrow  I  shall 
notice  every  little  thing.1'  And  though  you' forget  all 
about  it,  it  will  not  forget  itself,  and  it  will  haunt  you,  and 
335 


The  Friendly  Craft 

you  will  notice  all  kinds  of  things.  After  doing  this  a 
dozen  times  you  will  have  a  new  faculty  awakened.  It  is 
certainly  true  that,  as  Kant  wrote  to  Hufeland,  many  dis 
eases  can  be  cured  by  resolving  them  away  —  he  thought 
the  gout  could  be.  But  it  cannot  be  done  all  at  once  —  it 
needs  long  and  continued  effort  to  bring  this  to  pass  with 
confident  faith.  I  certainly  think  that  I  have  improved  my 
health  by  it.  ... 

XV 

"THE    CLOUD    ON   THE   WAY" 

"  After  the  curfew "         ^>       -<^>       ^^       <^v       ^> 
(Thomas  Jefferson  to  John  Adams) 

MONTICELLO,  June  ist,  1822 

is  very  long,  my  dear  Sir,  since  I  have  written 
to  you.  My  dislocated  wrist  is  now  become  so 
stiff  that  I  write  slowly  and  with  pain,  and  therefore  write 
as  little  as  I  can.  Yet  it  is  due  to  mutual  friendship  to 
ask  once  in  a  while  how  we  do.  The  papers  tell  us  that 
General  Stark  is  off  at  the  age  of  93.  Charles  Thompson 
still  lives  at  about  the  same  age  —  cheerful,  slender  as  a 
grasshopper,  and  so  much  without  memory  that  he  scarcely 
recognizes  the  members  of  his  household.  An  intimate 
friend  of  his  called  on  him  not  long  since ;  it  was  difficult 
to  make  him  recollect  who  he  was,  and,  sitting  one  hour, 
he  told  him  the  same  story  four  times  over.  Is  this  life  — 

"  with  lab'ring  step 

To  tread  our  former  footsteps  ?  —  pace  the  round 
Eternal  ?  —  to  beat  and  beat 
The  beaten  track  ?  —  to  see  what  we  have  seen, 
To  taste  the  tasted  ?  —  o'er  our  palates  to  decant 
Another  vintage  ?  " 

336 


I 


Is   Death  an  Evil  ? 

It  is  at  most  but  the  life  of  a  cabbage  ;  surely  not  worth 
a  wish.  When  all  our  faculties  have  left,  or  are  leaving 
us,  one  by  one  —  sight,  hearing,  memory  —  every  avenue 
of  pleasing  sensation  is  closed,  and  athumy,  debility,  and 
malaise  left  in  their  places  —  when  friends  of  our  youth  are 
all  gone,  and  a  generation  is  risen  around  us  whom  we 
know  not,  is  death  an  evil  ? 

"  When  one  by  one  our  ties  are  torn, 
And  friend  from  friend  is  snatched  forlorn, 
When  man  is  left  alone  to  mourn, 
Oh  !  then  how  sweet  it  is  to  die  ! 
When  trembling  limbs  refuse  their  weight, 
And  films  slow  gathering  dim  the  sight, 
When  clouds  obscure  the  mental  light, 
'Tis  nature's  kindest  boon  to  die  !  " 

I  really  think  so.  I  have  ever  dreaded  a  doting  old  age  ; 
and  my  health  has  been  generally  so  good,  and  is  now 
so  good,  that  I  dread  it  still.  The  rapid  decline  of  my 
strength  during  the  last  winter  has  made  me  hope  some 
times  that  I  see  land.  During  summer  I  enjoy  its  temper 
ature;  but  I  shudder  at  the  approach  of  winter,  and  wish  I 
could  sleep  through  it  with  the  dormouse,  and  only  wake 
with  him  in  spring,  if  ever.  They  say  that  Stark  could 
walk  about  his  room.  I  am  told  you  walk  well  and  firmly. 
I  can  only  reach  my  garden,  and  that  with  sensible  fatigue. 
I  ride,  however,  daily.  But  reading  is  my  delight.  I 
should  wish  never  to  put  pen  to  paper;  and  the  more 
because  of  the  treacherous  practice  some  people  have  of 
publishing  one's  letters  without  leave.  Lord  Mansfield 
declared  it  a  breach  of  trust,  and  punishable  at  law.  I 
think  it  should  be  a  penitentiary  felony ;  yet  you  will  have 
seen  that  they  have  drawn  me  out  into  the  arena  of  the 
newspapers.  Although  I  know  it  is  too  late  for  me  to 
z  337 


The  Friendly  Craft 

buckle  on  the  armor  of  youth,  yet  my  indignation  would 
not  permit  me  passively  to  receive  the  kick  of  an  ass. 

To  turn  to  the  news  of  the  day,  it  seems  that  the  canni 
bals  of  Europe  are  going  to  eating  one  another  again.  A 
war  between  Russia  and  Turkey  is  like  the  battle  of  the 
kite  and  snake.  Whichever  destroys  the  other  leaves  a 
destroyer  the  less  for  the  world.  This  pugnacious  humor 
of  mankind  seems  to  be  the  law  of  his  nature,  one  of  the 
obstacles  to  too  great  multiplication  provided  in  the  mech 
anism  of  the  universe.  The  cocks  of  the  hen-yard  kill 
one  another.  Bears,  bulls,  rams,  do  the  same.  And  the 
horse,  in  his  wild  state,  kills  all  the  young  males,  until, 
worn  down  with  age  and  war,  some  vigorous  youth  kills 
him,  and  takes  to  himself  the  harem  of  females.  I  hope 
we  shall  prove  how  much  happier  for  man  the  Quaker 
policy  is,  and  that  the  life  of  the  feeder  is  better  than  that 
of  the  fighter ;  and  it  is  some  consolation  that  the  desola 
tion  by  these  maniacs  of  one  part  of  the  earth  is  the  means 
of  improving  it  in  other  parts.  Let  the  latter  be  our  office, 
and  let  us  milk  the  cow,  while  the  Russian  holds  her  by 
the  horns,  and  the  Turk  by  the  tail.  God  bless  you,  and 
give  you  health,  strength,  and  good  spirits,  and  as  much 
of  life  as  you  think  worth  having.  .  .  . 

From  S.  N.  Randolph's  "  Domestic  Life  of  Thomas  Jefferson,"  published  by 
Harper  &  Brothers. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  brings  his  mother  home       x^ 

(To  his  wife) 
NEW  YORK,  Thursday,  May  12,  1836 

DEAR    LIDIAN,  — Yesterday  afternoon  we    attended 
Charles's  l  funeral.     Mother  and  Elizabeth  heard  the 
prayers,  but   did  not  go  out.      Mother  is  very  well,  and 
i  His  brother. 
338 


An   Upper  Chamber 

bears  her  sorrow  like  one  made  to  bear  it  and  to  comfort 
others.  Elizabeth  is  well,  and  the  strength  and  truth  of 
her  character  appear  under  this  bitter  calamity.  William 
and  Susan  are  well  and  thoroughly  kind  to  us,  as  they  have 
been  tenderly  faithful  to  Charles.  1  have  told  mother  I 
think  it  best,  on  every  account,  she  should  return  imme 
diately  with  me,  and  end  her  painful  visit  to  New  York, 
whither  she  came  to  spend  a  month  of  happiness  in  the 
new  household  of  her  son.  It  has  been  seven  or  eight 
months  of  much  sickness,  anxiety,  and  death.  She  will 
return  with  me  and  Elizabeth,  and  we  take  the  boat  to 
morrow  afternoon.  Now,  my  dear  wife,  shall  I  find  you 
in  Boston  or  in  Concord  ?  Do  what  you  think  best.  You 
may  think  it  necessary  to  go  home  on  Friday,  to  make 
ready  and  receive  us,  or  perhaps  you  can  send  sufficient 
word  and  go  with  us  on  Saturday.  It  is  not  of  much  im 
portance  any  way.  Trifles  all.  Only  I  wish  mother  to 
sit  down  as  gently  and  wontedly  in  her  chamber  in  your 
house  as  if  she  had  never  been  in  any  other. 

.  .  .  And  so,  Lidian,  I  can  never  bring  you  back  my 
noble  friend,  who  was  my  ornament,  my  wisdom,  and  my 
pride.  A  soul  is  gone,  so  costly  and  so  rare  that  few 
persons  were  capable  of  knowing  its  price,  and  I  shall 
have  my  sorrow  to  myself;  for  if  I  speak  of  him  I  shall  be 
thought  a  fond  exaggerator.  He  had  the  fourfold  perfec 
tion  of  good  sense,  of  genius,  of  grace,  and  of  virtue  as  I 
have  never  seen  them  combined.  I  determined  to  live  in 
Concord,  as  you  know,  because  he  was  there;  and  now 
that  the  immense  promise  of  his  maturity  is  destroyed,  I 
feel  not  only  unfastened  there  and  adrift,  but  a  sort  of 
shame  at  living  at  all.  I  am  thankful,  dear  Lidian,  that 
you  have  seen  and  known  him  to  that  degree  you  have.  I 
should  not  have  known  how  to  forgive  you  an  ignorance 
of  him,  had  he  been  out  of  your  sight.  Thanks,  thanks 
339 


The  Friendly  Craft 

for  your  kindest  sympathy  and  appreciation  of  him.  And 
you  must  be  content  henceforth  with  only  a  piece  of  your 
husband;  for  the  best  of  his  strength  lay  in  the  soul  with 
which  he  must  no  more  on  earth  take  counsel.  How  much 
I  saw  through  his  eyes  !  I  feel  as  if  my  own  were  very 
dim.  Yours  affectionately, 

WALDO  E. 

The  philosophy  of  compensation  avails  not  to  comfort 
one  who  mourns  his  son  dead  in  his  beauty     <^x 

(Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  to  Margaret  Fuller) 

CONCORD,  January  30,  1844 

WHEN,  last  Saturday  night,  Lidian  said,  "  It  is  two 
years  to-day,1'  I  only  heard  the  bell-stroke  again. 
I  have  had  no  experience,  no  progress,  to  put  me  into 
better  intelligence  with  my  calamity  than  when  it  was  new. 
I  read  lately,  in  Drummond  of  Hawthornden,  Ben  Jonson's 
narrative  to  him  of  the  death  of  his  son,  who  died  of  the 
plague  in  London.  Ben  Jonson  was  at  the  time  in  the 
country,  and  saw  the  boy  in  a  vision ;  "  of  a  manly  shape, 
and  of  that  growth,  he  thinks,  he  shall  be  at  the  resurrec 
tion."  That  samy  preternatural  maturity  did  my  beautiful 
statue  assume  the  day  after  death ;  and  so  it  often  comes 
to  me,  to  tax  the  world  with  frivolity.  But  the  inarticu 
lateness  of  the  Supreme  Power  how  can  we  insatiate  hear 
ers,  perceivers,  and  thinkers  ever  reconcile  ourselves  unto? 
It  deals  all  too  lightly  with  us  low-levelled  and  weaponed 
men.  Does  the  Power  labor  as  men  do  with  the  impossi 
bility  of  perfect  application,  that  always  the  hurt  is  of 
one  kind  and  the  compensation  of  another  ?  My  divine 
temple,  which  all  angels  seemed  to  love  to  build,  and 
which  was  shattered  in  a  night,  I  can  never  rebuild :  and 
340 


Patience  and  Patience 

is  the  facility  of  entertainment  from  thought,  or  friendship, 
or  affairs  an  amends?  Rather  it  seems  like  a  cup  of 
Somnus  or  of  Momus.  Yet  the  nature  of  things,  against  all 
appearances  and  specialties  whatever,  assures  us  of  eter 
nal  benefit.  But  these  affirmations  are  tacit  and  secular ; 
if  spoken,  they  have  a  hollow  and  canting  sound.  And 
thus  all  our  being,  dear  friend,  is  ever  more  adjourned. 
Patience,  and  patience,  and  patience  !  I  will  try,  since 
you  ask  it,  to  copy  my  rude  dirges  to  my  darling,  and  send 
them  to  you.  .  .  . 

"  Immortal  away  from  me "    ^»     ^>     -<^y    -<^>     -c> 
(James  Russell  Lowell  to  Charles  F.  Briggs) 

ELMWOOD,  Nov.  25,  1853 

MY  DEAR  OLD  FRIEND,  — Your  letter  came  while 
I  was  sadly  sealing  up  and  filing  away  my  old  let 
ters,  for  I  feel  now  for  the  first  time  old.  and  as  if  I  had  a 
past  —  something,  I  mean,  quite  alien  to  my  present  life, 
and  from  which  I  am  now  exiled.  How  beautiful  that 
past  was  and  how  I  cannot  see  it  clearly  yet  for  my  tears 
I  need  not  tell  you.  I  can  only  hope  and  pray  that  the 
sweet  influences  of  thirteen  years  spent  with  one  like  her 
may  be  seen  and  felt  in  my  daily  life  henceforth.  At 
present  I  only  feel  that  there  is  a  chamber  whose  name  is 
Peace,  and  which  opens  towards  the  sunrising,  and  that  I 
am  not  in  it.  I  keep  repeating  to  myself  "  by  and  by," 
"  by  and  by,1'  till  that  trivial  phrase  has  acquired  an  in 
tense  meaning.  I  know  very  well  that  this  sunset-glow, 
even  of  a  life  like  hers,  will  fade  by  degrees  ;  that  the  brisk, 
busy  day  will  return  with  its  bills  and  notes  and  beef  and 
beer,  intrusive,  distracting  —  but  in  the  meantime  I  pray. 
I  do  abhor  sentimentality  from  the  bottom  of  my  soul, 
and  cannot  wear  my  grief  upon  my  sleeves,  but  yet  I  look 
34i 


The  Friendly   Craft 

forward  with  agony  to  the  time  when  she  may  become  a 
memory  instead  of  a  constant  presence.  She  promised  to 
be  with  me  if  that  were  possible,  but  it  demands  all  the 
energy  of  the  soul  to  believe  without  sight,  and  all  the 
unmetaphysical  simplicity  of  faith  to  distinguish  between 
fact  and  fancy.  I  know  that  the  little  transparent  film 
which  covers  the  pupil  of  my  eye  is  the  only  wall  between 
her  world  and  mine,  but  that  hair-breadth  is  as  effectual  as 
the  space  between  us  and  the  sun.  I  cannot  see  her,  I 
cannot  feel  when  I  come  home  that  she  comes  to  the  door 
to  welcome  me  as  she  always  did.  I  can  only  hope  that 
when  I  go  through  the  last  door  that  opens  for  all  of  us  I 
may  hear  her  coming  step  upon  the  other  side.  That  her 
death  was  so  beautiful  and  calm  and  full  of  faith  as  it  was 
gives  me  no  consolation,  for  it  was  only  that  rare  texture 
of  her  life  continuing  to  the  very  end,  and  makes  me  feel 
all  the  more  what  I  had  and  what  I  have  not. 

I  began  this  upon  a  great  sheet  because  it  reminded  me 
of  the  dear  old  times  that  are  dead  and  buried  now.  But 
I  cannot  write  much  more.  I  keep  myself  employed  most 
of  the  time  —  in  something  mechanical  as  much  as  pos 
sible  —  and  in  walking.  .  .  . 

You  say  something  of  coming  to  Boston.  I  wish  I 
could  see  you.  It  would  be  a  great  comfort.  .  .  . 

I  am  glad  for  your  friendly  sake  that  my  article  was  a 
popular  one,  but  the  news  of  it  only  pained  me.  It  came 
too  late  to  please  the  only  human  being  to  please  whom  I 
greatly  cared  and  whose  satisfaction  was  to  me  prosperity 
and  fame.  But  her  poem  —  how  beautiful  it  was,  and  how 
fitting  for  the  last !  .  .  . 

So  God  bless  you,  and  think  of  me  always  as  your  more 
loving  friend,  J.  R.  L. 

From  "  Letters  of  James  Russell  Lowell,"  edited  by  Charles  Eliot  Norton. 
Copyright,  1893,  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 

342 


r 


The  Mission  of  Pain 

The  same  old  baffling  questions  "       <^x      -^       -<^. 

I 

(William  Ellery  Channing  to  Mrs.  E.  L.  Pollen) 
"N  regard  to  the  evils  of  life,  they  trouble  me  less 
and  less.  I  see  pain  and  death  everywhere. 
All  animated  nature  suffers  and  dies.  Life  begins  and 
ends  in  pain.  Then  pain  has  a  great  work  to  do.  Then 
there  is  a  vast  good  before  us,  to  outweigh  and  annihilate 
it.  Its  universality  reconciles  me  to  it.  I  do  not  ask  to 
be  exempted  from  the  common  lot.  In  this,  as  in  all 
things,  I  wish  to  go  with  my  race.  I  pretend  not  to 
explain  things,  but  I  do  see  glorious  issues  of  suffering, 
and  these  are  enough.  Once,  had  I  been  called  upon  to 
create  the  earth,  I  should  have  done  as  the  many  would 
now,  —  I  should  have  laid  it  out  in  pleasure-grounds,  and 
given  man  Milton's  occupation  of  tending  flowers,  &c.,  &c. 
But  I  am  now  satisfied  with  this  wild  earth,  its  awful 
mountains  and  depths,  steeps  and  torrents.  I  am  not 
sorry  to  learn  that  God's  end  is  a  virtue  far  higher  than  I 
should  have  prescribed.  .  .  . 

II 

(Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  to  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe) 

March  3,  1876 

A/fY  DEAR  MRS.  STOWE,— How  could  you  have 
1V1  given  me  greater  pleasure  than  by  asking  me  to 
copy  the  verses  which  I  enclose  ?  I  shall  set  this  request 
by  the  side  of  a  reminiscence  very  dear  to  me.  A  cousin 
of  my  wife  — Miss  Sally  Gardiner,  —  older  than  myself, 
unmarried,  fastidious,  a  lover  of  Emerson's  writings,  a 
good  and  delicately  organized  woman,  on  whose  grave 
stone  I  read  "  She  loved  much,"  once  said  to  me  or  one 
343 


The  Friendly  Craft 

of  my  friends  that  there  was  a  poem  of  mine  she  often 
read  the  last  thing  at  night,  —  as  children  say  "Now  I  lay 
me."  This  was  "The  Chambered  Nautilus."  You  have 
given  me  the  one  memory  to  store  with  that.  How  grate 
ful  we  ought  to  be  for  our  better  moments,  that  lift  in- 
firmer  natures,  for  the  time  at  least,  to  the  level  of  those 
whom  they  admire  and  reverence  ! 

Your  letters  always  touch  me,  but  I  hardly  know  how 
to  answer  them  without  following  their  own  suggestions. 
And  this  last  falls  in  remarkably  with  many  of  my  own 
thoughts  during  the  past  year.  Out  of  our  Saturday  Club 
we  have  lost  Sumner  and  Howe.  I  paid  my  small  tribute 
to  both,  —  that  to  Howe  will  be  in  the  April  Atlantic. 
Last  summer,  as  I  may  have  told  you,  I  was  in  daily  rela 
tions  for  some  weeks  with  Motley,  who  is  still  in  the  valley 
of  the  shadow  of  death,  the  death  of  one  whose  life  was 
dearer  to  him  than  his  own.  He  himself  was  in  shattered 
and  precarious  health,  and  to  be  with  him  was  to  read 
very  deep  into  the  human  soul  in  its  sincerest  realities. 
What  yearning  there  is  in  tender  natures,  knitted  in  with 
the  life  of  others,  often  nobler  and  purer  than  themselves, 
for  that  unquestioning,  child-like  belief  which  is  so  largely 
a  divine  gift,  and  for  which  many  pray  without  ever  reach 
ing  it !  If  God  will  make  such  good  women  as  he  does 
every  day,  he  must  not  quarrel  with  his  poor  creatures  for 
making  too  much  of  his  earthly  manifestations.  The 
Catholics  idealize  and  idolize  a  bambino,  a  virgin,  a  saint  ; 
and  is  not  a  living  fellow-creature,  full  of  all  that  we  con 
ceive  makes  an  angelic,  one  might  say  divine,  character, 
more  naturally  and  easily  made  an  idol  —  eidolon  —  image, 
to  a  common  imagination,  than  a  stuffed  doll,  or  a  picture, 
or  an  abstraction  ?  Father,  mother,  wife,  sister,  daughter, 
—  if  these  do  not  furnish  me  the  elements  out  of  which 
I  put  together  my  poor  limited  working  conception  of  the 
344 


The   Mystery   of  Suffering 

Divine,  I  know  not  where  to  look  for  them.  It  is  not  by 
a  parcel  of  adjectives  without  nouns,  multiplied  by  the 
sign  of  infinity,  that  I  can  get  at  the  conception,  for  which 
I  am  to  keep  all  my  respect  and  affection. 

I  have  only  stammered  out  in  my  own  way  what  you 
have  said  in  simpler  phrase  in  your  letter.  All  that  you  say 
of  the  Infinite  love  and  pity  is  the  very  substance  of  such 
belief  as  I  cherish  in  the  midst  of  the  doubts  and  difficul 
ties  around  us,  all  which  imperatively  demand  new  forms 
for  that  universal  and  undying  sentiment,  without  which 
life  is  the  pitiful  melodrama  which  would  make  us  ashamed 
of  its  author  for  making  anything  above  a  vegetable,  — 
anything  with  possibilities  of  suffering.  To  you,  I  suppose, 
sin  is  the  mystery,  —  to  me  suffering  is.  I  trust  Love  will 
prove  the  solution  of  both.  At  any  rate  no  atomic  philoso 
phy  can  prevent  my  hoping  that  it  will  prove  so.  ... 

Educational  suffering  I  can  to  a  certain  extent  under 
stand.  But  the  great  solid  mass  of  daily  anguish  which 
the  sun  looks  upon  —  and  looks  away  from,  as  if  he  could 
not  bear  it,  —  antedating  man,  including  everything  that 
has  a  nerve  in  it,  —  that  I  can  do  nothing  with.  "  Sin,1' 
or  the  failure  of  an  imperfectly  made  and  imperfectly 
guided  being  to  keep  a  perfect  law,  seems  to  me  to  be 
given  in  the  mere  statement  of  the  conditions  of  humanity, 
and  could  not  be  a  surprise  or  a  disappointment  to  a 
Creator  with  reasoning  powers  no  greater  than  those  of  a 
human  being  of  ordinary  wisdom.  But  I  must  not  weary, 
perhaps  worry,  you  with  my  theological  or  anti-theological 
notions  —  say  rather,  convictions.  Some  time  I  may  have 
the  chance  to  talk  about  these  with  you.  .  .  . 

You  will  read  this  letter  charitably,  I  know  ;  it  is  care 
lessly  worded,  and  only  hints  many  things   I  could    talk 
better.     I   rarely  have  the  patience  to  write  so  much  as 
this,  and  it  takes  a  woman  to  write  a  real  letter.  .  .  . 
345 


I 


The  Friendly  Craft 

The  unendurable  pain       <^>       ^>       *^x       ^>      <^ 

(Celia  Thaxter  to  Adaline  Hepworth,  from  Appledore, 
Sept.  15,  1890) 

HAVE  moved  down  to  my  mother's  room  from 
the  lonesome  cottage.  The  little  garden  is 
splendid  with  flowers  now,  and  draped  to  the  eaves  with 
thick  vines.  To-day  the  rain  falls  steadily,  the  slow, 
autumn  rain.  There  is  no  sound,  except  the  falling  drops, 
—  of  wind,  or  sea,  or  bird,  or  human  creature;  it  seems 
like  the  end  of  life,  so  still  and  so  motionless.  I  think  I 
must  go  over  to  Portsmouth  early  this  year.  The  silence 
weighs  on  me.  I  am  tired  after  all  the  long  summer. 

The  griefs  God  sends,  if  one  only  stops  to  think,  after 
all  are  easy  to  bear,  because  God  sends  them.  It  is  only 
the  pain  one  brings  on  one's  self  that  cannot  so  patiently 
be  borne.  .  .  . 

"  Good  night,  sweet  Prince  "  l      *^>     <^>      <^y     *Qy 
(Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich  to  William  Winter) 

PONKAPOG,  MASS.,  June  1 2,  1 893 

DEAR  WILL:     We   reached   Mount   Auburn  a   few 
minutes  before  sunset.     Just  as  Edwin  [Booth]  was 
laid  in  the  grave,  among  the  fragrant  pine-boughs  which 
lined  it,  and  softened  its  cruelty,  the  sun  went  down.     I 
never  saw  anything  of  such  heart-breaking  loveliness  as 
this  scene.     There  in  the  tender  afterglow  two  or   three 
hundred  men  and  women  stood  silent  with  bowed  heads. 
A   single   bird,    in    a    nest    hidden    somewhere    near   by 
twittered  from  time  to  time.     The  soft  June  air,  blowing 
across  the   upland,  brought  with  it  the  scent  of  syringa 
!See  page  212. 
346 


A  Gentle  Soul 

blossoms  from  the  slope  below.  Overhead  and  among 
the  trees  the  twilight  was  gathering.  "  Good  night,  sweet 
Prince  ! "  I  said,  under  my  breath,  remembering  your 
quotation.  Then  I  thought  of  the  years  and  years  that 
had  been  made  rich  with  his  presence,  and  of  the  years 
that  were  to  come,  —  for  us  not  many,  surely,  —  and  if 
there  had  not  been  a  crowd  of  people,  I  would  have  buried 
my  face  in  the  greensward  and  wept,  as  men  may  not  do, 
and  women  may.  And  thus  we  left  him. 

Some  day,  when  I  come  to  New  York,  we  must  get 
together  in  a  corner  at  The  Players,  and  talk  about  him  — 
his  sorrows  and  his  genius,  and  his  gentle  soul. 

Ever  affectionately, 

TOM 

Lest  we  grieve  the  dead      ^^     ^>     ^^     x^>     ^^ 
(From  Charles  Godfrey  Leland) 

HOMBURG-LES-BAINS,  July  23d,  1890 

DEAR  MISS  OWEN,  — It  is  truly  with  grief  I  learn 
that  a  great  loss  has  befallen  you.  As  regards  terri 
ble  bereavements  there  is  but  one  thing  to  do  wisely  —  to 
draw  nearer  to  those  who  remain  or  whatever  is  near  and 
dear  to  us  in  life,  and  love  them  the  more,  and  become 
gentler  and  better  ourselves,  making  more  of  what  is  left. 
There  are  people  who  wail  and  grieve  incessantly  and 
neglect  the  living  to  extravagance.  It  seems  always  as  if 
they  attracted  further  losses  and  deeper  miseries.  Weak 
and  simple  minds  grieve  most,  —  melancholy  becomes  a 
kind  of  painful  indulgence,  and  finally  a  deadly  habit. 
Work  is  the  great  remedy.  I  think  a  great  deal  of  the  old 
Northern  belief  that  if  we  lament  too  much  for  the  dead, 
they  cannot  rest  in  their  graves  and  are  tormented  by  our 
347 


The  Friendly   Craft 

tears.     It  is  a  pity  that  the  number  of  our  years  is  not 
written  on  our  foreheads  when  we  are  born.  .  .  . 

Keep  up  your  heart,  work  hard,  live  in  hope,  write  books, 
make  a  name,  study  —  there  is  a  great  deal  in  you.  As  in 
China  —  we  ennoble  the  dead  by  ennobling  ourselves.  .  .  . 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  exhorts  Thomas  Carlyle  to  be 
strong  and  endure        ^>     ^>      ^^     ^y      ^> 
CONCORD,  16  May,  1866 

MY  DEAR  CARLYLE,  — I  have  just  been  shown  a 
private  letter  from  Moncure  Conway  to  one  of  his 
friends  here,  giving  some  tidings  of  your  sad  return  to  an 
empty  home.  We  had  the  first  news  last  week.  And  so 
it  is.  The  stroke  long  threatened  has  fallen  at  last,  in 
the  mildest  form  to  its  victim,  and  relieved  to  you  by 
long  and  repeated  reprieves.  I  must  think  her  fortunate 
also  in  this  gentle  departure,  as  she  had  been  in  her  serene 
and  honored  career.  We  would  not  for  ourselves  count 
covetously  the  descending  steps  after  we  have  passed  the 
top  of  the  mount,  or  grudge  to  spare  some  of  the  days  of 
decay.  And  you  will  have  the  peace  of  knowing  her  safe, 
and  no  longer  a  victim.  I  have  found  myself  recalling 
an  old  verse  which  one  utters  to  the  parting  soul,  — 

"  For  them  hast  passed  all  change  of  human  life, 
And  not  again  to  thee  shall  beauty  die." 

It  is  thirty-three  years  in  July,  I  believe,  since  I  first  saw 
her,  and  her  conversation  and  faultless  manners  gave  as 
surance  of  a  good  and  happy  future.  As  I  have  not  wit 
nessed  any  decline,  I  can  hardly  believe  in  any,  and  still 
recall  vividly  the  youthful  wife,  and  her  blithe  account  of 
her  letters  and  homages  from  Goethe,  and  the  details  she 
gave  of  her  intended  visit  to  Weimar,  and  its  disappoint- 
348 


The  Awful  Oracles 

ment.  Her  goodness  to  me  and  to  my  friends  was  ever 
perfect,  and  all  Americans  have  agreed  in  her  praise, 
Elizabeth  Hoar  remembers  her  with  entire  sympathy  anc 
regard. 

I  could  heartily  wish  to  see  you  for  an  hour  in  these 
lonely  days.  Your  friends,  I  know,  will  approach  you  as 
tenderly  as  friends  can  ;  and  I  can  believe  that  labor  —  all 
whose  precious  secrets  you  know  —  will  prove  a  consoler, — 
though  it  cannot  quite  avail,  for  she  was  the  rest  that 
rewarded  labor.  It  is  good  that  you  are  strong,  and  built 
for  endurance.  Nor  will  you  shun  to  consult  the  awful 
oracles  which  in  these  hours  of  tenderness  are  sometimes 
vouchsafed.  If  to  any,  to  you. 

I  rejoice  that  she  stayed  to  enjoy  the  knowledge  of  your 
good  day  at  Edinburgh,  which  is  a  leaf  we  would  not  spare 
from  your  book  of  life.  It  was  a  right  manly  speech  to  be 
so  made,  and  is  a  voucher  of  unbroken  strength,  —  and  the 
surroundings,  as  I  learn,  were  all  the  happiest,  —  with  no 
hint  of  change. 

I  pray  you  bear  in  mind  your  own  counsels.  Long 
years  you  must  still  achieve,  and,  I  hope,  neither  grief  nor 
weariness  will  let  you  "join  the  dim  choir  of  the  bards  that 
have  been,11  until  you  have  written  the  book  I  wish  and 
wait  for,  —  the  sincerest  confessions  of  your  best  hours. 

My  wife  prays  to  be  remembered  to  you  with  sympathy 
and  affection. 

Ever  yours  faithfully, 

R.  W.  EMERSON 


349 


The  Friendly  Craft 

XVI 

THE   UNCONQUERABLE   HOPE 

Judging  from  the  past,  Benjamin  Franklin  anticipates 
the  future  with  rational  assurance  ^>      -^      ^Qy 

I 
(To  the  Rev.  George  Whitefield;  June  19,  1764) 

.  .  .  "\7OUR  frequently  repeated  wishes  for  my  eternal, 
JL  as  well  as  my  temporal  happiness,  are  very 
obliging,  and  I  can  only  thank  you  for  them  and  offer  you 
mine  in  return.  I  have  myself  no  doubt,  that  I  shall  enjoy 
as  much  of  both  as  is  proper  for  me.  That  Being,  who 
gave  me  existence,  and  through  almost  threescore  years 
has  been  continually  showering  his  favors  upon  me,  whose 
very  chastisements  have  been  blessings  to  me ;  can  I  doubt 
that  he  loves  me  ?  And,  if  he  loves  me,  can  I  doubt  that 
he  will  go  on  to  take  care  of  me,  not  only  here  but  hereafter  ? 
This  to  some  may  seem  presumption  ;  to  me  it  appears  the 
best  grounded  hope  ;  hope  of  the  future  built  on  experience 
of  the  past.  .  .  . 

II 

(To  Dr.  Shipley,  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph,  Feb.  24,  1786) 

VHE  course  of  nature  must  soon  put  a  period  to 
my  present  mode  of  existence.  This  I  shall 
submit  to  with  the  less  regret,  as,  having  seen  during  a  long 
life  a  good  deal  of  this  world,  I  feel  a  growing  curiosity  to 
be  acquainted  with  some  other;  and  can  cheerfully,  with 
filial  confidence,  resign  my  spirit  to  the  conduct  of  that 
great  and  good  Parent  of  mankind,  who  created  it,  and 
who  has  so  graciously  protected  and  prospered  me  from  my 
birth  to  the  present  hour.  .  .  . 
350 


T 


The  Only   Reality 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  expounds  his  creed     ^^ 

CONCORD,  July  3,  1841 


I 


AM  very  much  moved  by  the  earnestness  of  your 
appeal,  but  very  much  humbled  by  it ;  for  in  at 
tributing  to  me  that  attainment  and  that  rest  which  I  well 
know  are  not  mine  it  accuses  my  shortcomings.  I  am,  like 
you,  a  seeker  of  the  perfect  and  admirable  Good.  My 
creed  is  very  simple  that  Goodness  is  the  only  Reality, 
that  to  Goodness  alone  can  we  trust,  to  that  we  may  trust 
all  and  always ;  beautiful  and  blessed  and  blessing  is  it, 
even  though  it  should  seem  to  slay  me. 

Beyond  this  I  have  no  knowledge,  no  intelligence  of 
methods ;  I  know  no  steps,  no  degrees,  no  favorite  means, 
no  detached  rules.  Itself  is  gate  and  road  and  leader  and 
march.  Only  trust  it,  be  of  it,  be  it,  and  it  shall  be  well 
with  us  forever.  It  will  be  and  govern  in  its  own  tran 
scendent  way,  and  not  in  ways  that  arithmetic  and  mortal 
experience  can  measure.  I  can  surely  give  no  account  of 
the  origin  and  growth  of  my  trust,  but  this  only,  that  the 
trust  accompanies  the  incoming  of  that  which  is  trusted. 
Blessed  be  that!  Happy  am  I  when  I  am  a  trust;  un 
happy  and  so  far  dead  if  it  should  ebb  from  me.  If  I,  if 
all  should  deny  it,  there  not  the  less  would  it  be  and  pre 
vail  and  create. 

We  are  poor,  but  it  is  rich  :  as  every  wave  crests  itself 
with  foam,  so  this  can  incarnate  itself  everywhere  with 
armies  of  ministers,  inorganic,  organic  plant,  brute,  man, 
angel,  to  execute  its  will.  What  have  we  to  do  but  to  cry 
unto  it  All-Hail,  Good  Spirit ;  it  is  enough  for  us  that  we 
take  form  for  thy  needs  :  Thou  art  in  us ;  Thou  art  us. 
Shall  we  not  learn  to.  look  at  our  bodies  with  a  religious 
joy,  and  empty  every  object  of  its  meanness  by  seeing  how 
it  came  to  be  ? 


Friendly  Craft 

But  the  same  Goodness  in  which  we  believe,  or  rather 
which  always  believes  on  itself,  as  soon  as  we  cease  to  con 
sider  duties,  and  consider  persons,  becomes  Love,  imperi 
ous  Love,  that  great  Prophet  and  Poet,  that  Comforter, 
that  Omnipotency  in  the  heart.  Its  eye  falls  on  some 
mortal  form,  but  it  rests  not  a  moment  there  ;  but,  as  every 
leaf  represents  to  us  all  vegetable  nature,  so  love  looks 
through  that  spotted,  blighted  form  to  the  vast  spiritual 
element  of  which  it  was  created  and  which  it  represents. 
We  demand  of  those  we  love  that  they  shall  be  excellent 
in  countenance,  in  speech,  in  behavior,  in  power,  in  will. 
They  are  not  so ;  we  are  grieved,  but  we  were  in  the  right 
to  ask  it.  If  they  do  not  share  the  Deity  that  dictated  to 
our  thought  this  immense  wish,  they  will  quickly  pass 
away,  but  the  demand  will  not  die,  but  will  go  on  accumu 
lating  as  the  supply  accumulates,  and  the  virtues  of  the 
soul  in  the  remotest  ages  will  only  begin  to  fulfil  the  first 
craving  of  our  poor  heart. 

I  count  you  happy  that  your  soul  suggests  to  you  such 
affectionate  and  noble  errands  to  other  spirits  as  the  wish 
to  give  them  your  happiness  and  your  freedom.  That  the 
Good  Heart,  which  is  the  heart  of  us  all,  may  still  enrich 
you  with  new  and  larger  impulses  of  joy  and  power  is  the 
wish  of  your  affectionate  servant, 

R.  WALDO  EMERSON 

James  Freeman  Clarke  compresses  his  into  four  words 
(To  Samuel  May,  Secretary  of  the  class  of  '29,  Harvard) 
JAMAICA  PLAIN,  February  6,  1874 

DEAR  SAM,  —  It  is  very  good  of  you  to  speak  of  me 
as  you  do ;  but  I  seem  to  myself  to  have  been  a  very 
poor  sort  of  a  worker,  and  I  can  almost  take  to  myself 
Wordsworth's  lines, 

352 


The  Constant  Ideal 

"  But  he  is  weak,  both  man  and  boy,  — 
Hath  been  an  idler  in  the  land, 
Contented  if  he  can  enjoy 
The  things  which  others  understand." 

The  things  I  most  wished  to  do,  I  have  never  done;  the 
things  I  have  done  best,  I  have  only  half  done.  I  have 
lived  "  au  jour  lejour"  and  merely  tried  to  do  the  nearest 
duty.  The  first  sermon  I  ever  preached  had  for  its  text 
(it  was  preached  in  the  school)  what  I  meant  for  the 
motto  of  my  life,  "  Whatever  thy  hand  finds  to  do,  do  it 
with  thy  might."  I  have  kept  this  ideal  before  me.  though 
I  have  never  fulfilled  it,  —  whatever  my  hand  found  to  do, 
the  thing  which  lay  at  hand  ;  not  what  the  heart  desired, 
not  what  the  ambition  aspired  to.  not  what  the  will  chose, 
but  what  the  hand  found.  I  have  always  believed  in 
Providence,  and  so  have  never  desponded  ;  I  have  always 
trusted  in  the  essential  good-will  of  my  fellow-men,  and 
have  not  been  deceived.  This  life  I  have  held  to  be  sweet, 
and  the  next  life  at  least  as  good  as  this.  Cheerfulness 
and  contentment  have  kept  me  well,  so  far  as  I  have  kept 
well,  both  in  body  and  mind.  I  have  come  nearer  to 
God  every  year,  finding  in  Him  love  which  is  always  law, 
and  law  which  is  always  love.  My  creed  has  grown 
shorter  every  year,  until  I  now  put  it  into  four  words, 
"  From  God,  for  man."  .  .  . 

Some  day,  when  I  am  taken  from  you,  in  outward  pres 
ence,  but  not  in  heart,  —  for  wherever  in  God's  universe  I 
may  be,  I  shall  think  of  our  dear  class  still,  —  you  will 
perhaps  read  to  them  this  note,  kept  in  your  book  till  then, 
and  so  they  will  hear  me  once  more  speaking  to  them,  and 
telling  them  to  believe  that  we  shall  come  together  some' 
where  in  the  vast  beyond. 

Truly  yours, 

JAMES  FREEMAN  CLARKE 
2A         353 


The  Friendly  Craft 

The  passionate  protest        "Q>      <^      x^     ^^x      ^ 
(Celia  Thaxter  to  Sophie  Eichberg,  Feb.  6,  1893) 

"\  7OUR  dear  little  note  just  came,  and  it  makes 
-*-  my  heart  ache  for  you,  and  for  myself,  and  all 
of  us.  It  is  so  hard,  my  darling  Sophie,  so  cruel  hard, 
not  to  see  him  again  here,  nor  with  these  eyes,  in  the  old 
familiar  places,  in  the  old  way.  Oh,  I  feel  it  so  deeply 
myself,  so  deeply  and  so  sadly,  and  what  must  you  feel  ! 
I  know  it  all,  all  the  ache  and  sorrow  of  it.  If  death,  that 
change  we  call  death,  meant  the  end  of  life,  then  indeed 
might  despair  settle  upon  us,  but  it  is  only  change  and 
separation  for  the  time  being ;  desperately  hard  and  sad, 
but  not  forever.  Oh  no,  no,  no !  a  thousand  times  no ! 
At  our  longest,  we  stay  here  so  little  while,  and  then  seek 
our  dear  ones  in  that  selfsame  road  they  have  traveled : 
who  shall  doubt  that  we  find  them,  with  all  their  love  for 
us,  again  !  .  .  . 

The  privilege  of  covenanting  with  God  <^>      <^> 

(To  Jonathan  Edwards) 

PRINCETON,  Nov.  2,  1757 
TJONOURED   SIR, 

J-  -L  Your  most  affectionate,  comforting  letter,  by  my 
brother,  was  exceedingly  refreshing  ^to  me,  although  I  was 
somewhat  damped  that  I  should  not  see  you  until  spring. 
But  it  is  my  comfort  in  this  disappointment,  as  well  as  under 
all  my  afflictions,  that  God  knows  what  is  best  for  me  and 
for  his  own  glory.  Perhaps  I  depended  too  much  on  the 
company  and  conversation  of  such  a  near,  and  dear,  and 
affectionate  father  and  guide.  I  cannot  doubt  but  all  is 
for  the  best,  and  I  am  satisfied  that  God  should  order  the 
affair  of  your  removal  as  shall  be  for  his  glory,  whatever 
354 


All  for  the  Best 

comes  of  me.  Since  I  wrote  my  mother's  letter,  God  has 
carried  me  through  new  trials,  and  given  me  new  supports. 
My  little  son  l  has  been  sick  with  the  slow  fever  ever  since 
my  brother  left  us,  and  has  been  brought  to  the  brink  of 
the  grave.  But  I  hope,  in  mercy,  God  is  bringing  him  up 
again.  I  was  enabled  to  resign  the  child  (after  a  severe 
struggle  with  nature)  with  the  greatest  freedom.  God 
showed  me  that  the  child  was  not  my  own,  but  his,  and 
that  he  had  a  right  to  recall  what  he  had  lent  whenever  he 
thought  fit ;  and  I  had  no  reason  to  complain,  or  say  God 
dealt  hard  with  me.  This  silenced  me.  But  how  good  is 
God!  He  hath  not  only  kept  me  from  complaining,  but 
comforted  me,  by  enabling  me  to  offer  up  the  child  by 
faith.  I  think,  if  ever  1  acted  faith,  I  saw  the  fulness  there 
was  in  Christ  for  little  infants,  and  his  willingness  to 
accept  of  such  as  were  offered  to  him.  "  Suffer  little  chil 
dren  to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not,  for  of  such  is 
the  kingdom  of  God,1'  were  comforting  words.  God  also 
showed  me,  in  such  a  lively  manner,  the  fulness  that  was 
in  himself  of  all  spiritual  blessings,  that  I  said,  "Although 
all  streams  were  cut  off,  yet,  so  long  as  my  God  lives,  I 
have  enough."  He  enabled  me  to  say  —  "Although  thou 
slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in  thee."  In  this  time  of  trial  I 
was  led  to  enter  into  a  renewed  and  explicit  covenant  with 
God,  in  a  more  solemn  manner  than  ever  before,  and 
with  the  greatest  freedom  and  delight.  After  much  self- 
examination  and  prayer,  I  did  give  up  myself  and  chil 
dren  to  God  with  my  whole  heart.  Never,  until  now, 
had  I  a  sense  of  the  privilege  we  are  allowed  in  covenant 
ing  with  God!  This  act  of  my  soul  left  my  mind  in  a  quiet 
and  steady  trust  in  God.  A  few  days  after  this,  one  even 
ing,  in  talking  of  the  glorious  state  my  dear  departed 
[husband]  must  be  in,  my  soul  was  carried  out  in  such 
1  Aaron  Burr,  then  about  twenty  months  old. 
355 


The  Friendly   Craft 

longing  desires  after  this  glorious  state,  that  I  was  forced 
to  retire  from  the  family  to  conceal  my  joy.  When  alone, 
I  was  so  transported,  and  my  soul  carried  out  in  such  eager 
desires  after  perfection,  and  the  full  enjoyment  of  God,  and 
to  serve  him  uninterruptedly,  that  I  think  my  nature  would 
not  have  borne  much  more.  I  think  I  had  that  night  a 
foretaste  of  Heaven.  This  frame  continued,  in  some  good 
degree,  the  whole  night.  I  slept  but  little ;  and  when  I 
did,  my  dreams  were  all  of  heavenly  and  divine  things. 
Frequently  since  I  have  felt  the  same  in  kind,  though  not 
in  degree.  Thus  a  kind  and  gracious  God  has  been  with 
me  in  six  troubles,  and  in  seven.  But,  oh!  sir,  what  cause 
of  deep  humiliation  and  abasement  of  soul  have  I.  on 
account  of  remaining  corruption  which  I  see  working, 
especially  pride !  Oh.  how  many  shapes  does  pride  cloak 
itself  in!  Satan  is  also  busy  shooting  his  darts;  but, 
blessed  be  God,  those  temptations  of  his  that  used  to 
overthrow  me,  as  yet,  have  not  touched  me.  Oh  to  be 
delivered  from  the  power  of  Satan  as  well  as  sin!  I  can 
not  help  hoping  the  time  is  near.  God  is  certainly  fitting 
me  for  himself;  and  when  I  think  it  will  be  soon  that  I 
shall  be  called  hence,  the  thought  is  transporting. 
Your  dutiful  and  affectionate  daughter, 

ESTHER  BURR 


"  Within  the  gate "         ^^     *^>    ^>     ^^     ^y     ^> 

(To  Mr.  and  Mrs.  James  T.  Fields) 

Monday  Night     [May,  1864] 

T)ELOVED;  When  I  see  that  1  deserved  nothing,  and 
•L*  that  my  Father  gave  me  the  richest  destiny  for  so 
many  years  of  time  to  which  eternity  is  to  be  added,  I  am 
struck  dumb  with  an  ecstacy  of  gratitude,  and  let  go  my 
356 


A  Transporting  Thought 

mortal  hold  with  an  awful  submission,  and  without  a  mur 
mur.  I  stand  hushed  into  an  ineffable  peace  which  I  can 
not  measure  nor  understand.  It  therefore  must  be  that 
peace  which  "  passeth  all  understanding."  I  feel  that  his 
joy  is  such  as  "  the  heart  of  man  cannot  conceive,1'  and 
shall  I  not  then  rejoice,  who  loved  him  so  far  beyond  my 
self?  If /did  not  at  once  share  his  beatitude,  should  I  be 
one  with  him  now  in  essential  essence?  Ah,  thanks  be  to 
God  who  gives  me  this  proof —  beyond  all  possible  doubt 
—  that  we  are  not  and  never  can  be  divided ! 

If  my  faith  bear  this  test,  is  it  not  "  beyond  the  utmost 
scope  and  vision  of  calamity!"  Need  I  ever  fear  again  any 
possible  dispensation  if  I  can  stand  serene  when  that  pres 
ence  is  reft  from  me  which  I  believed  I  must  instantly  die 
to  lose?  Where,  O  God,  is  that  supporting,  inspiring,  pro 
tecting,  entrancing  presence  which  surrounded  me  with 
safety  and  supreme  content? 

"  It  is  with  you,  my  child,  saith  the  Lord,  and  seemeth 
only  to  be  gone."  "  Yes,  my  Father,  I  know  I  have  not 
lost  it,  because  I  still  live."  "  I  will  be  glad."  "  Thy  will 
be  done.11  From  a  child  I  have  truly  believed  that  God 
was  all  good  and  all  wise,  and  felt  assured  that  no  event 
could  shake  my  belief.  To-day  I  know  it. 

This  is  the  whole.  No  more  can  be  asked  of  God. 
There  can  be  no  death  nor  loss  for  me  for  evermore.  I 
stand  so  far  within  the  veil  that  the  light  from  God's 
countenance  can  never  be  hidden  from  me  for  one  moment 
of  the  eternal  day,  now  nor  then.  God  gave  me  the  rose 
of  time ;  the  blossom  of  the  ages  to  call  my  own  for  twenty- 
five  years  of  human  life. 

God   has   satisfied  wholly   my  insatiable   heart  with   a 

perfect  love  that  transcends  my  dreams.     He  has  decreed 

this  earthly  life  a  mere  court  of  "  the  house  not  made  with 

hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens.11     Oh,  yes,  dear  heavenly 

357 


The  Friendly  Craft 

Father  !  "  I  will  be  glad,"  that  my  darling  has  suddenly  es 
caped  from  the  rude  jars  and  hurts  of  this  outer  court,  and 
when  I  was  not  aware  that  an  angel  gently  drew  him 
within  the  palace-door  that  turned  on  noiseless  golden 
hinges,  drew  him  in,  because  he  was  weary. 

God  gave  to  his  beloved  sleep.  And  then  an  awaking 
which  will  require  no  more  restoring  slumber. 

As  the  dew-drop  holds  the  day,  so  my  heart  holds  the 
presence  of  the  glorified  freed  spirit.  He  was  so  beautiful 
here,  that  he  will  not  need  much  change  to  become  a 
"shining  one11  !  How  easily  I  shall  know  him  when  my 
children  have  done  with  me,  and  perhaps  the  angel  will 
draw  me  gently  also  within  the  palace-door,  if  I  do  not 
faint,  but  truly  live,  "  Thy  will  be  done." 

At  that  festival  of  life  that  we  all  celebrated  last  Monday, 
did  not  those  myriad  little  white  lily-bells  ring  in  for  him 
the  eternal  year  of  peace,  as  they  clustered  and  hung 
around  the  majestic  temple,  in  which  he  once  lived  with 
God?  They  rang  out,  too,  that  lordly  incense  that  can 
come  only  from  a  lily,  large  or  small.  What  lovely  ivory 
sculpture  round  the  edge.  I  saw  it  all,  even  at  that  breath 
less  moment,  when  I  knew  that  all  that  was  visible  was 
about  to  be  shut  out  from  me  for  my  future  mortal  life.  I 
saw  all  the  beauty,  and  the  tropical  gorgeousness  of  odor 
that  enriched  the  air  from  your  peerless  wreath  steeped  me 
in  Paradise.  We  were  the  new  Adam  and  the  new  Eve 
again,  and  walked  in  the  garden  in  the  cool  of  the  day, 
and  there  was  not  yet  death,  only  the  voice  of  the  Lord. 
But  indeed  it  seems  to  me  that  now  again  there  is  no 
death.  His  life  has  swallowed  it  up. 

Do  not  fear  for  me  "  dark  hours."  I  think  there  is 
nothing  dark  for  me  henceforth.  I  have  to  do  only  with 
the  present,  and  the  present  is  light  and  rest.  Has  not 
the  everlasting 

358 


Hope  and  Joy   for  All 

"  Morning  spread 
Over  me  her  rich  surprise?" 

I  have  no  more  to  ask,  but  that  I  may  be  able  to 
comfort  all  who  mourn  as  I  am  comforted.  If  I  could 
bear  all  sorrow  I  would  be  glad,  because  God  has  turned 
for  me  the  silver  lining ;  and  for  me  the  darkest  cloud  has 
broken  into  ten  thousand  singing  birds  —  as  I  saw  in  my 
dream  that  I  told  you.  So  in  another  dream,  long  ago, 
God  showed  me  a  gold  thread  passing  through  each  mesh 
of  a  black  pall  that  seemed  to  shut  out  the  sun.  I  com 
prehend  all  now,  before  I  did  not  doubt.  Now  God  says 
in  soft  thunders,  —  "  Even  so !  " 

Your  faithful  friend, 
SOPHIA  HAWTHORNE 

A  Christmas  letter     x^>      ^>      ^c^      *o      x^>     ^y 

(Lucy  Larcom  to  John  G.  Whittier) 

627  TREMONT  STREET, 
BOSTON,  December  25,  1881 

MY     DEAR    FRIEND, —  Alone    in    my    room    this 
evening,   I  feel  just  like  writing  a  Christmas  letter 
to  you,  and  I  follow  the  impulse. 

This  day  always  brings  back  old  times  and  old  friends 
to  memory,  but  never  with  sadness  to  me,  because  the  one 
idea  of  the  day  is  hope  and  joy  for  all  souls,  the  possibili 
ties  of  infinite  help,  unending  progress.  Whenever  I  enter 
deeply  into  the  thought  of  Christ,  whenever  I  feel  Him 
the  one  Reality  inseparable  from  my  own  being,  then  I 
feel  that  I  have  my  friends  safe,  and  that  they  are  to  be 
my  friends  forever.  To  me,  He  is  the  one  Divine  Friend 
in  whom  human  friendships  can  alone  be  real  and  perma 
nent,  because  He  draws  us  into  sympathy  with  what  is  best, 
359 


The  Friendly  Craft 

with  what  is  eternal,  the  love  of  goodness,  the  consciousness 
of  God  in  us  and  around  us,  and  the  solemn  gladness  of  a 
human  life  into  which  God  has  entered,  and  where  He  still  is. 

God  with  us  still,  the  Spiritual  Presence,  of  One  who  is 
more  real  than  any  other  person  can  be  to  us,  through 
whom  indeed  we  receive  our  personality, — this  idea,  so 
grand  as  at  times  to  seem  almost  impossible,  grows  more 
definite  and  clear  to  me.  It  is  the  "  So  I  am  with  you 
alway "  of  Christ.  And  with  this  idea,  that  of  those 
whom  we  love  unseen,  our  friends  who  have  disappeared 
from  sight,  becomes  more  definite  also. 

Sometimes  I  can  say  undoubtingly,  "  I  know  I  shall  find 
them  again,  where  He  is."  But  though  the  light  flickers 
and  dims  sometimes,  what  if  it  does?  There  the  light  is, 
and  every  year  a  larger  space  is  redeemed  from  darkness. 

Oh,  my  dear  friend !  life  is  a  gift  blessed  as  it  is  awful. 
To  think  how  close  we  are  to  one  another  for  good  or  evil, 
do  what  we  will  !  We  cannot  be  apart  from  our  fellow- 
beings  ;  the  pulses  of  this  life  we  have  in  common  throb, 
upward  or  downward,  through  us  forever.  Death  is  not  to 
me  half  so  solemn  as  life :  but  then  death  is  no  reality  —  a 
circumstance  of  our  external  life  only.  .  .  . 

The  "  sole  ground  of  hope "      ^>       ^^       ^y       ^> 
(John  G.  Whittier  to  Harriet  M.  Pitman) 

.  .  .  T    AM  greatly  pained  to  hear  of  the  illness  of  our 

•1    old  friend  Garrison.      For  how  many  years  he 

has  been  an  important  part  of  our  world  !     Much  of  my 

own  life  was  shaped  by  him.     It  is  very  sad  to  think  I 

shall  see  him  no  more.     The  next  mail  may  bring  tidings 

of  his  death.     I  have  been  thinking  over  my  life,  and  the 

survey  has  not  been  encouraging.     Alas  !  if  I  have  been  a 

servant  at  all  I  have  been  an  unprofitable  one,  and  yet  I 

360 


Holy  and   Pure   Ideals 

have  loved  goodness,  and  longed  to  bring  my  imaginative 
poetic  temperament  into  true  subjection.  I  stand  ashamed 
and  almost  despairing  before  holy  and  pure  ideals.  As  I 
read  the  New  Testament  I  feel  how  weak,  irresolute,  and 
frail  I  am,  and  how  little  I  can  rely  on  anything  save  our 
God's  mercy  and  infinite  compassion,  which  I  reverently 
and  thankfully  own  have  followed  me  through  life,  and  the 
assurance  of  which  is  my  sole  ground  of  hope  for  myself, 
and  for  those  I  love  and  pray  for.  .  .  . 


361 


LIST   OF    LETTER   WRITERS 


Adams,  Abigail  (Mrs.  John),  13,  219, 

250,  265,  268. 

Adams,  John,  n,  12,  115,  268,  269. 
"  Agnes,"  293,  296. 
Alcott,  Louisa  May,  32,  35,  38. 
Aldrich,  Thomas  Bailey,  55,  202,  207, 

209,  212,  346. 

Appleton,  Thomas  Gold,  65,  66,  170. 
Bancroft.  George,  101,  179,  180,  306, 

309- 

Beecher,  Lyman,  107. 
Beecher,  Thomas  K.,  320. 
Blaine,     Harriet     Stanwood      (Mrs. 

James  G.),  302. 
Blaine,  James  G.,  316. 
Brace,  Charles  Loring,  118. 
Bradford,  William,  258. 
Bridgman,  Laura,  80. 
Briggs,  Caroline  C.,  156,  333 
Brooks,  Phillips,  84. 
Burr,  Aaron,  71,  73,  74,  138,  139,  274, 

275,  3I2»  323- 
Burr,  Esther  Edwards  (Mrs.  Aaron, 

Sr.),354- 
Channing,   William   Ellery,  79,  326, 

343- 

Child,  Lydia  Maria,  333. 
Choate,  Rufus,  i,  76,  200,  320. 
Clarke,  James  Freeman,  352. 
Curtis,  George  William,  21,  24,  300. 
Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  67,  158,  162, 

189,  338,  340,  348,  351- 
Fithian,  Philip,  89,  92. 
Fowler,  David,  317,  319. 
Franklin,  Benjamin,  6,  273,  313,  316, 

325,  350. 
Franklin,  Deborah  (Mrs.  Benjamin), 

78. 

Fuller,  Margaret,  see  Ossoli. 
Gibbons,  Abby  Hopper  (Mrs.  James), 

t,  77- 


Gibson,  William  Hamilton,  62,  63,  64. 
Godkin,  Edwin  Lawrence,  250,  310, 

331- 

Grant,  Ulysses,  96. 
Greeley,  Horace,  290. 
Grimke,  Sarah,  14. 
Hamilton,  Alexander,  313. 
Hancock,  John,  i,  8,  114. 
Harte,  Bret,  213,  247,  249. 
Hawthorne,      Nathaniel,      18,      116, 

117. 
Hawthorne,    Sophia    Peabody    (Mrs. 

Nathaniel),  19,  21,  356. 
Holley,  Sallie,  227,  228,  287. 
Holmes,   Oliver   Wendell,    130,   222, 

323,  343- 

Howe,  Samuel  Gridley,  81. 
Irving,   Washington,  2,  54,   140,  142, 

148,  166,  168,  187,  254,  305,  317. 
Jackson,  Andrew,  314. 
Jackson,  Rachel  (Mrs.  Andrew),  277, 

281. 

James,  Henry,  Sr.,  152. 
Jefferson,  Thomas,  69,  71,  325,  336. 
Lanier,  Sidney,  119,  216. 
Larcom,  Lucy,  51,  58,  359. 
Lee,  Robert  E.,  288,  289,  301,  311. 
Leland,   Charles  Godfrey,    211,    255, 

303,  334,  347- 

Lincoln,  Abraham,  292,  296. 
Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworth,  122, 

128,  150,  184,  198. 
Longfellow,     Mary      Potter      (Mrs. 

Henry  W.),  158. 
Longfellow,  Stephen,  186. 
Lowell,  James  Russell,  30,  79,   124, 

127,  129,  149,  155,  188,  204,  341. 
Lucas,  Eliza,  see  Pinckney. 
Madison,  Dolly  (Mrs.  James),  275. 
Mather,  Increase,  86. 
Morris,  Gouverneur,  221. 


363 


The  Friendly  Craft 


Motley,  John  Lothrop,  172,  182. 

Ossoli,  Margaret  Fuller,  67,  160,  177, 
194,  196. 

Parker,  Theodore,  103,  233,  332. 

Parkman,  Francis,  94,  226. 

Pinckney,  Eliza  Lucas  (Mrs. 
Charles),  3,  5,  131. 

Prescott,  William  Hickling,  93,  118, 
241,  243,  245. 

Sedgwick,  Catharine  M.,  i,  2,  199, 
256. 

Sewall,  Jonathan  W.,  270. 

Sewall,  Samuel,  2,  112,  113,  260. 

Smith,  Margaret  Bayard  (Mrs.  Sam 
uel  Harrison),  145,  283. 

Southgate,  Eliza,  75,  119,  134. 

Sparks,  Jared,  311. 

Story,  William   Wetmore,    125,    169, 

196,   2OI. 

Stowe,  Harriet  Beecher,  40,  41,  47. 
Sumner,  Charles,  123,  164,  236. 
Swann,  Thomas,  314. 


Taylor,  Bayard,  173. 

Thaxter,  Celia,  252,  346,  354. 

Thoreau,  Henry  D.,  26,  150,  224, 
229,  328. 

Ticknor,  George,  99. 

Warner,  Charles  Dudley,  204,  206. 

Warren,  James,  261,  263. 

Warren,  Mercy  (Mrs.  James),  266 

Washington,  George,  i,  7,  10,  113 
272,  322. 

Webster,  Daniel,  104,  106,  324. 

Webster,  Edward,  105. 

Weld,  Angelina  Grimk£  (Mrs.  Theo 
dore),  16. 

Whittier,  John  Greenleaf,  156,  201, 
210,  360. 

Williams,  Roger,  no. 

Willis,  Nathaniel  Parker,  192. 

Winthrop,  John,  109,  no,  216,  257. 

Winthrop,  Margaret  (Mrs.  John), 
108. 


364 


A   NEW   BOOK  BY 

AUSTIN    DOBSON 

De   LlbriS     (Prose  and  Verse] 

Extra  crown,  8vo,  price  $T.JO  net ;  by  mail,  $f.62 

Characteristic  essays  with  interspersed  bits  of  amusing 
light  verse.  He  has  chosen  his  favorite  topics  among 
things  literary,  and  writes  of  old  books,  quaint  characters, 
book  illustrations  (with  many  specimens  of  the  work  of 
two  typical  favorites  among  illustrators  —  Hugh  Thomson 
and  Kate  Greenaway).  Along  the  eighteenth-century 
byways  of  literature  Mr.  Dobson  is  as  much  at  home  as  a 
native,  and  in  his  researches  into  the  times  of  Mme.  d1  Ar- 
blay,  John  Evelyn,  Henry  Fielding,  Samuel  Richardson,  etc., 
he  has  happened  on  many  a  forgotten  treasure,  preserved 
in  an  eddy  of  the  moving  stream  of  books  and  men,  from 
which  he  has  drawn  the  material  for  such  papers  as  these 
—  rich  in  entertainment,  instinct  with  a  most  individual 
personality. 


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Attractive  Anthologies  by  E.  V.  LUCAS 

The  Gentlest  Art 

A  Choice  of  Letters  by  Entertaining  Hands 

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An  anthology  of  letter  writing,  so  human,  interesting,  and 
amusing  from  first  to  last,  as  almost  to  inspire  one  to  attempt 
the  restoration  of  a  lost  art. 

"  We  do  not  believe  that  a  more  likable  book  has  been  pub 
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"  Mr.  E.  V.  Lucas  is,  technically  speaking,  an  expert  anthologist. 
We  have  ourselves  more  than  once  considered  him  in  that  light. 
Yet  we  are  not  sure  but  that  fairness  would  dictate  the  invention 
of  a  new  category  in  which  to  place  this  more  than  ingenious 
exploiter  of  the  contents  of  a  library.  That  is  the  work  of  a 
mere  compiler,  and  Mr.  Lucas  does  not  compile.  What  he 
does,  rather,  is  to  assemble  a  quantity  of  raw  material,  quarried 
from  the  classics,  and  then  to  fashion  out  of  it  a  fabric  stamped 
with  his  own  personality.  .  .  .  Let  him  go  on  indefinitely.  He 
will  always  be  sure  of  an  appreciative  public." 

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